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- 93
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- Storyteller
˗ˋˏ ◜ ♡ ◝ ˎ´˗
ꘜ‿︵‿ꘜ
March 1st, Year 124
︶꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶꒦
▲‿▲
Do the trees bleed?
Love hung between a pair like thick sap, plucked from tooth to fawning tongue. The mummer's love, a longing of a human girl. Yona wore her skin. Yona wore her Mask, smiling with that the coy, tart lips. Beside her, a man far older, far wisened. He knew better, when his hand touched the skin of her cheek and he shivered; how could he not know that behind those green eyes there was something to fear?
Together, they shuddered in the cold. What she was came undone lace by lace. His coarse fingers knew the push-pull from their lifelong sway. Then, when she was like the beasts, he stole a gaze at her supple skin, and she did the same ferreting to his drawstrings beneath his eyes. "You're a kind man, Dækkr," said Yonakouchi beneath him. "A lovely, lovely, handsome man. The kind of man . . . I could taste."
Heart cool, every little tick felt small compared to the heavy thuds booming into her through Dækkr's skin. She pulled him into a kiss, and he twisted his face to mash wet prey-lips to the sharp, nicking teeth.
Then she bit his lip.
There was a hiss, a bubble. His hands moved down to grab her, and his eyes opened with confusion as he lay poised above her with want.
"Augh," Dækkr winced, pulling his mangled lip back as she let go to thrust her arms up like a cat having its fun.
Dækkr didn't understand, and he looked at her with a thousand accusations in his eyes. That was why she laughed. It was just so funny, when they walked so far out into the woods, and followed her into a den of leaves like a rutting animal, and for what? A bit of sex?
"Dækkr, it's okay," Yonakouchi said, the magic on her tongue. She was the girl, and the girl didn't know she was a monster. "I got a little carried away."
That's it, pig. Get it back on track. Avoid reality, let it take you for a ride.
Her thoughts played, but her body was moving. His shirt had come off, and his trousers were snaking down his porcelain swine-skin. They were caught in a tangle as he sought to free himself, but she seized his hand, and held it up with a squeeze. "I didn't bring you here for that, Dækkr," Yonakouchi interrupted him.
"Miss?" Dækkr locked up. She'd bit him, hewn his lip damn near in half. He was bleeding, but he still wanted her.
Her response was to slip her legs around him, to push his hands to his sternum, and ride them up his neck and squeeze. His smile when she did that could have shattered glass, but again. "We . . . aren't?" she let her words play games, while her body told another story, pulling him close to whisper at his cheek. "I'm not Fæliri," she confessed.
Dækkr winced. Without a word, he pulled back. He wanted off . . . whatever this was. But she didn't let go, slender arms wrapping his neck until he answered with a pinch to her side.
But she didn't let go, no.
"Okay, that's enough," Dækkr grunted. "Let go." His hand pinched her again, and she bucked with a baleful whimper that pulled on his heartstrings.
"Why don't you love me, Dækkr?" the girl Yona wore spoke in pain.
There were soft things sliding tenderly up his sagging drawers now. He looked down at them, their soft white tips playing in the light. And he gasped, their many number bringing a sick sense of dawn. Raising his hand, he brought it down, but she caught it in a tail, and wound him up in them like a statue until he was kicking. Whimpering, like a sad goat. "Inari!" he cried.
"Thought you were an Ælf," Dækkr hissed. "Are you going to kill me, you shitty animal?"
"Don't kill me," he said.
"Don't 'eat' you?"
"Don't."
She laughed. "Don't?"
"Fucking Fae!" Dækkr whimpered.
Lowering Dækkr down, he strained and kicked in that soft, silky bondage, her many appendages wrapping him tighter. Squeezing the breath out of him like a bag of blood. As he squeaked, she covered his wet mouth and blinded his eyes in the fur.
A cool, wet nose touched his bare belly left exposed. Her soft tongue licked him there, sending his body into a wrenching struggle.
Then it was white hot. Teeth pricked, and warmth suckled. What breath he had left whistled from him like a teapot as she wrung him out like a rag, his body popping, crumpling in her tail. Dækkr passed out, and then he died, a bag of organs and blood that she let ooze into her mouth. The fur dissected him, plucked his ribs out, tails like limbs enjoying the warmth and wet of a fresh blood bath.
When her lips met his liver, the vixen moaned. She took the fat organ in her teeth and tore it out, paws clutching its still twitching enormity. She tore into it, and the clock ticked back again with every bite, until she had clarity. Until she could think, without the craze of blood addling her mind with need. Covered in crimson, she tossed his vacant body aside and turned her gaze to the dark lump of skin, dried flesh, and bones. With a curl of her claw, she pushed the will of Miasmata down into his dead corpse, Tethered to it, and gave him the will to rise and serve.
Dækkr twitched, and then crunched. He shambled to his feet, a thrall, and made for the thick foliage to stand with the others.
Slaking the blood off of her and the grass with a call to her finger, Yonakouchi swallowed every last drop, and then she was clean again.
Do the prosperous sons lead?
It was a solemn day. Notable, in a hundred years, for the thick chill in the fog that hung over the bog.
Ripe fruit, apples to orchards, picked, plucked, cut up and cored. They were food, the Fælniri. But they never knew.
A sad, sad thing.How many times . . . will they writhe?
It was a solemn day. Notable, in a hundred years, for the thick chill in the fog that hung over the bog.
Ripe fruit, apples to orchards, picked, plucked, cut up and cored. They were food, the Fælniri. But they never knew.
Love hung between a pair like thick sap, plucked from tooth to fawning tongue. The mummer's love, a longing of a human girl. Yona wore her skin. Yona wore her Mask, smiling with that the coy, tart lips. Beside her, a man far older, far wisened. He knew better, when his hand touched the skin of her cheek and he shivered; how could he not know that behind those green eyes there was something to fear?
Not in a thousand years.
Until they lay there beneath the boughs of a blue haze, in the Tangle. With her, in a place she could clearly smell the soft scent of death tingling faintly at her nostrils. As the hunger grew upon her teeth, could she really be blamed, as his hand ran afoul her neck, and his other hand her blouse? His wrist taken in hands smooth as silk, her smile tightened, and she let loose a laugh so soft that she thought she might melt into the supple human-fur of his arms.Not in every which way Yonakouchi knew her own every flaw, did they ever see, what they ought to know.
"Good Goddess, Fæna," said the human, face hot with the pride in his heart. "What see you in me, a lowly oarsman?"
"Why Dækkr, beloved..." Yonakouchi sang. "I see the future, and the past." Her hands moved up his arm, feeling the heightened nerves dancing back to her touch. She took his palm from her neck, and pushed it to her face to cradle with him there, a genuine, discomforted kind of comfort. Warm, in a sense.
Together, they shuddered in the cold. What she was came undone lace by lace. His coarse fingers knew the push-pull from their lifelong sway. Then, when she was like the beasts, he stole a gaze at her supple skin, and she did the same ferreting to his drawstrings beneath his eyes. "You're a kind man, Dækkr," said Yonakouchi beneath him. "A lovely, lovely, handsome man. The kind of man . . . I could taste."
Heart cool, every little tick felt small compared to the heavy thuds booming into her through Dækkr's skin. She pulled him into a kiss, and he twisted his face to mash wet prey-lips to the sharp, nicking teeth.
Then she bit his lip.
There was a hiss, a bubble. His hands moved down to grab her, and his eyes opened with confusion as he lay poised above her with want.
The cow. The pig. The lowly rabbit.
"Augh," Dækkr winced, pulling his mangled lip back as she let go to thrust her arms up like a cat having its fun.
She laughed at him.
Dækkr didn't understand, and he looked at her with a thousand accusations in his eyes. That was why she laughed. It was just so funny, when they walked so far out into the woods, and followed her into a den of leaves like a rutting animal, and for what? A bit of sex?
"Dækkr, it's okay," Yonakouchi said, the magic on her tongue. She was the girl, and the girl didn't know she was a monster. "I got a little carried away."
"You're a sadistic one, aren't ya?" Dækkr nodded, rolling his clawed and ugly nail under her chin. "You think yourself mean and mighty? Well, Dækkr, he's got somethin' for you, miss."
That's it, pig. Get it back on track. Avoid reality, let it take you for a ride.
You only ever wanted a ride with the skin, the harlot I ate before you were a wink in your mother's womb.
You're just like all the rest.
Her thoughts played, but her body was moving. His shirt had come off, and his trousers were snaking down his porcelain swine-skin. They were caught in a tangle as he sought to free himself, but she seized his hand, and held it up with a squeeze. "I didn't bring you here for that, Dækkr," Yonakouchi interrupted him.
"Miss?" Dækkr locked up. She'd bit him, hewn his lip damn near in half. He was bleeding, but he still wanted her.
"Miss, are we going to do this, or not?" he seethed.
Her response was to slip her legs around him, to push his hands to his sternum, and ride them up his neck and squeeze. His smile when she did that could have shattered glass, but again. "We . . . aren't?" she let her words play games, while her body told another story, pulling him close to whisper at his cheek. "I'm not Fæliri," she confessed.
Dækkr winced. Without a word, he pulled back. He wanted off . . . whatever this was. But she didn't let go, slender arms wrapping his neck until he answered with a pinch to her side.
"Tch!" The vixen with human skin recoiled, breasting her full chest upwards.
But she didn't let go, no.
"Okay, that's enough," Dækkr grunted. "Let go." His hand pinched her again, and she bucked with a baleful whimper that pulled on his heartstrings.
"Why don't you love me, Dækkr?" the girl Yona wore spoke in pain.
There were soft things sliding tenderly up his sagging drawers now. He looked down at them, their soft white tips playing in the light. And he gasped, their many number bringing a sick sense of dawn. Raising his hand, he brought it down, but she caught it in a tail, and wound him up in them like a statue until he was kicking. Whimpering, like a sad goat. "Inari!" he cried.
She was already half-bent forward, touching under his rib with a smooth hand.
The game was done. Rarely did she get them all the way here, to her nest. Dropping her guise, there was suddenly beneath him the short, spry creature. A soft and confident vixen, leg crossed over knee as she danced him above her with tails, a marionette gleefully wrapping its food. "They never go into the thicket. They always back out, they never play. Why is it that you followed me this far, Dækkr? Every other man and woman, I'd gag them with my tails and take them this far. But not you. Have you no sense for danger?""Inari," the man repeated, in shock. His heart was racing. She could see his skin jiggle, claws poking him, provoking his flesh to quiver.
"Thought you were an Ælf," Dækkr hissed. "Are you going to kill me, you shitty animal?"
"That is a consequence of eating people, Dækkr, yes," Yona replied, twirling him above her such that his eyes saw her and those icy blue, glowing eyes, then the canopy, then her again. Round and round, she toyed with him as he quivered and broke down.
"Don't kill me," he said.
"Don't 'eat' you?"
"Don't."
She laughed. "Don't?"
"Fucking Fae!" Dækkr whimpered.
Lowering Dækkr down, he strained and kicked in that soft, silky bondage, her many appendages wrapping him tighter. Squeezing the breath out of him like a bag of blood. As he squeaked, she covered his wet mouth and blinded his eyes in the fur.
A cool, wet nose touched his bare belly left exposed. Her soft tongue licked him there, sending his body into a wrenching struggle.
Then it was white hot. Teeth pricked, and warmth suckled. What breath he had left whistled from him like a teapot as she wrung him out like a rag, his body popping, crumpling in her tail. Dækkr passed out, and then he died, a bag of organs and blood that she let ooze into her mouth. The fur dissected him, plucked his ribs out, tails like limbs enjoying the warmth and wet of a fresh blood bath.
When her lips met his liver, the vixen moaned. She took the fat organ in her teeth and tore it out, paws clutching its still twitching enormity. She tore into it, and the clock ticked back again with every bite, until she had clarity. Until she could think, without the craze of blood addling her mind with need. Covered in crimson, she tossed his vacant body aside and turned her gaze to the dark lump of skin, dried flesh, and bones. With a curl of her claw, she pushed the will of Miasmata down into his dead corpse, Tethered to it, and gave him the will to rise and serve.
Dækkr twitched, and then crunched. He shambled to his feet, a thrall, and made for the thick foliage to stand with the others.
Slaking the blood off of her and the grass with a call to her finger, Yonakouchi swallowed every last drop, and then she was clean again.
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