Thorne watched her walk off from the grimy upstairs window. He leaned on the banister, feeling the smell of her leave, and sighed. Her silver hair shone bright with the reappearing sun. He remembered her scent, poppies and smoke. He’d been jolted. Usually such a killer instinct, sure he likes to be playful. But there was a wanting to be buried in her silver hair once more. She was like a flower, freshly sprung. Freshly picked. But there was something underneath the petals, something hungry. A thorn in your palm. She was a little annoying truthfully, the way she hadn’t been scared. The dark magic had affected her in a strange way. An unexpected way.
Thorne closed his eyes, returning his thoughts to those of more importance.
Nine months ago, werewolves were facing the return of beliefs circulated in the 1960s.People wanted their expulsion from the same society as sorcerers, once again. Much like what happened to the vampires. The fear was growing.
Let them be scared. Wizards and witches are feeble. Wolves are strong. Wolves can fight.6 months ago, there were even Ornerie hunts for werewolves through the villages in Romania and France. Although, not close to where Thorne was, they hadn’t been targeted like this for centuries. I mean, by Orneries too. Jaggar scowled at the pure mockery. He felt heat course through his body, the pure hum of power he had. These humans were nothing in the face of magic and dark creatures.
Nothing.
Henry Levany wanted werewolves stripped of their rights, and the specific ban of their kind from the society of magic folk. Three weeks ago, that act was passed. Henry Levany also had a daughter, of which, was in Mookaite right this second. Getting in her head last night, seeing eyes green as willows. That had made Thorne feel something. She had turned out to be a tricky little witch to catch in the sleepy town of Skelton. And he could sense a dragon’s fire inside her. But it was fun, nonetheless.
Oh, Thorne liked to have fun.
And this game of his.
Dove Levany is going to love it.
About the Creator
Essie
Brambling, atypical logorrhoea that really materialise in the form of hatching worms. Or stars.
21
Gravitational Pull and the Moon
"That's an amazingly astute observation. I couldn't have said it better myself." "Yeah, but like — just because I can reach that conclusion logically doesn’t mean I can feel it. You know? Like my emotions are on the other side of the planet from me. No, they're on the fucking moon, and I'm here, and my logic means nothing at all because I can't get myself to feel what I know, and there's no oxygen where my emotions live, and I'm suffocating."
By Mallory Rose3 days ago in Fiction
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts5 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
going to love it