Decay

She had been wandering for weeks now. All this unknown land - all these new scents and places to carry her friends. It was a lot of energy, seemingly wasted, on travel. It was not like the cream-hued wolf had a destination in mind. Viscaria was aimlessly wandering around, wasting precious energy when she should have been conserving it. But she did not believe she was weak. Since birth, she learned to live (and push herself) in this weakened state until she was nothing but skin and bones. The true depth of her starvation was invisible beneath thick fun. Her eyes piercing and hazy, the one sign that she was not walking completely on the side of sane.

It was obvious she lived her life by her own rules. That she had lived a life of hardship, pain and despair, leaving her reality twisted - just the way she liked it. It didn’t help her current reality though. And, as always, her stomach growled with the need for sustenance. She could hardly see a thing in the foggy haze of the relay world. Scents were musty and muted from the dampness in the air. The light was slowly fading around her and that meant she needed to find somewhere to rest for the night. The small female paused, her brown ear flickers in an attempt to pick up any sounds in the undergrowth.

“Come out. Come out, wherever you areee,” she sung in a raspy voice. Her own vocal cords were even tired from use these last few days when she’d gone a year with minimal conversations. It was almost like she needed to learn how to speak again. It was not something she thought about. Especially when half her conversations were executed in her head. “I know you’re out there.” Her fur bristled with impatience. It was not the best way to find her dinner, but it was her way. Crimson gaze flickered to a nearby bush, hearing something scurry away within.
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Everything seemed muted and dull. Like she was viewing it through an opaque lens. She leapt forward, her back arched much like a fox, her hind end trailing beneath her. It took much effort - too much - in her opinion. Why hint when she could scavenge? Why do anything when there was a lesser option that could conserve time and energy?

Front paws landed on a mound, claws digging into something soft. A vole. It wiggle beneath her grasps, desperate to get away. Wasting no time, she grabbed it by her front teeth, yanking it up into the air and swiftly snapping it down. It’s neck broken, body twitching, was when the wind shifted and the scent of another wolf hit her full force. Then came the noisy paw steps - like a heavy force attempting to be quiet. Cream eyelids narrowed toward the vast source, in afraid. No fur bristled, no growl was given as she took him in. Her teeth snapped, her head swiftly lowering to force the cope further into her mouth and chomping on it, swallowing bones and all. The crunching was music to her ears.

“Did you come to get eaten as well?” she asked in an almost sickly, sweet voice, and licking her lips. Food was good, right? Blood was blood, though the blood of skunks stunk like their stink sacs. “You smell... surprisingly delicious,” a tilt of her head was given, working through the scents she could decipher: blood, dirt and decay. Like that of a carcass she found herself often feeding from. Despite her her stomach nearly stretched to the limits from the vole in a pathetic fashion, it growled from the scent alone.
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Viscaria was not one to exert more energy than was necessary. With her mind so fragile and disconnected from reality versus imaginary, it was hard for her to distinguish when her hunger cues were. She ate when she couldn’t live another day without eating. She slept when she could not long take another steps. And yet her eyes - glassy as they were - held such vibrancy, such heat derived from pain and hatred.

Her enemies would eventually rest in the pit of her stomach, and something told her she had a long list of names on that list. From birth, she had gathered them. She looked at the wolf ling and hard, her dry tongue licking over her lips like sand paper. “You are not worth my time or energy, wolf.” she lifted her chin with as much pose and dignity that she was taught to have being of royal blood. And turned. She turned her back on him to leave with a mild flick of her cream and brown tail.
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A low growl of pleasure sounded deep within her throat as foreign skin grazed the malnourished skin of her hind end. Tail flicked to the side, much like a feline as she turned, watching his circle her like she was the prey. Little did he know that Viscaria was the predator in all sense. She devoured her enemies and collected their skulls. She was the one who befriended those skulls and traveled with them everywhere.

She had no prejudice between predator or prey. Only size. And this males would be the most priced price of her collection if she were to be so fortunate. Her blood sang with pleasure ah the thought, at the physical pain. It made her feel more alive… as if the female who teetered on the line of life or death finally had a glimpse behind the curtain of life. Ears perked forward, her crimson gaze watching him with newfound interest. She ignored his claim, only having an eye for her own agenda. “Bite me again,” she commanded, her voice firm.
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Something akin to a pure rumbled deep in her throat as he obeyed her command, his fangs so king deep into her shoulder. She naught care about infection, about cleanliness. Her body was a temple forged of grunt, despair, pain and survival. Everything that was flung her way, she lived through and turned it into something she needed or wanted in that given moment.

Otherwise the other would find a quick and slow death waiting for them in the future. Be it near or far. Viscaria was patient. Viscaria was devoted to her own cause. Like this one. She could feel the stickiness of blood soak her brown and cream fur, trickling down her leg and staining the ground around her paw. A sharp moan of pleasure parted her jaws, the sound like a howling wind. “Again.” She could get lost in this euphoria.
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Ecstasy shot through her veins as she he’d her body form. It was quickly turning to liquid, an intangible form than he would not be able to bite soon. It had been so long since she had relished in this pleasure - Since she focuses solely on her emotions that she forgot what this feeling was like. It was a drug, and she would happily become addicted yet again.

His teeth left her skin, only to Pierce her again, holding onto her like she was his anchor. Oh, the pleasure it gave her. Another moan escaped, this one drawn out as her body rocked, swaying as she was as nearly brought to her knees. He held on, and it was nearly her undoing except she needed one last thing. One cherry on top. The small female twisted with him, lashing out even though it caused her skin to pull at his teeth.

She snapped at him then, twisting her own body to accomplish the blinding task at hand. If only she could taste the blood of another wolf once more. She needed that fire within her mouth, she needed it to boil deep within her stomach, then she would feel complete… then she would feel that release she longed for.

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Viscaria straightened, her legs weak from lack of muscle, exhaustion and pain - the pain a welcoming feeling no matter how incapacitated it made her. Oh, how she could relish in that feeling forever, drown in the desire that set her afire. Head tilted as a barely there, coy smile spread her cracked lips, “So am I special then? Am I one of the few out of the many?” Tongue clicked against her teeth as if scowling him, thought part of her relished in the fact that she could do something right. 

She didn't want his approval. In fact, the pale femme didn't need anyone's approval. She lived only for herself - selfish as it was. But without her watching out for herself and only herself, she would have perished a long time ago. She would have been driven insane by the pack of madness that she had been born into. Memories fluttered just beyond the filmy curtain, taunting her enough to where he smile quickly turned into a frown. “Killing me would do me a favor and put me out of my misery. However, I have those that I look after that would look for me. Wouldn't your pack look for you if you were gone?” she asked, her link to sanity quickly slipping along with her desire.

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Viscaria was not one to like packs. No. She despised pack life considering she had no positive experiences coming from it. Even drugged with the taste of canine blood in her mouth and pain coursing through her body, she was not tempted to find solitude with a pack. She could think of nothing more satisfying than causing pain and welcoming pain, but pack life only mean pain she could not choose and that was a hard line she could not cross. 

For anyone. 

Eyes narrowed as she sucked on her tongue, the dry flesh sticking to the roof of her mouth as she regarding the larger, and stronger male before her. He had let her have some semblance of control. He had let her inflict pain while not giving her pain against her will. Those were choices that she never had been gifted before. 

“Perhaps, you will give me the choice to think about it? One season's time? Before Winter, I would give you an answers and if I don't, you can put me out of my misery then,” she said, her voice lowered and husky, but not in seduction, simply because the femme needed water to soother her parched throat as blood would not do the trick.

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