Wolf RPG

Logically, Lecter had accepted that he would lose Jinx. And yet, whatever small iota of him that had resigned her to such a fate was not strong enough to stand against the demands of his mind, the twinned flames of ire and of grief that burned simultaneously within him.

Too young, too young; the shaman would gladly trade whatever remaining months he had left to himself if only it would break the shadow of madness from overtop her head and breathe new life into her.

In the sleepless nights that followed upon the heels of her deterioration, Lecter lay encased in his brew of opiate and mushroom, breathing somewhat laboured, agonal in the testament of his everlasting love for Jinx. It occurred to him to poison her utterly, to allow her a quick respite against the thirst and the denial that would consume her at the end, but the hot sting of tears against his eyelids, surprising in its foreign sensation, lent credence to the fact that he could not do this thing. He could not kill her, for despite the peace Jinx would gain, her precious blood would be upon him.

And so the madman had settled for self-destruction, and with each slowed beat of his heart, Lecter felt peace settle into its place. He was careful to apportion his poisons as not to allow Jinx to to outlive him; the shaman suspected she had little time, and he intended to mingle the cadence of their hearts until the last beat of her own.

He sought her now, beneath the full belly of the moon, with quiet steps. And once he had found the trail of her scent, feverish, infected, he wept her name into the gloom of the nightfall air. Jinx, Lecter called, with blind hope in his soul that she would hear him, would come to him. Jinx, come to me. I will not live if you must die. His voice faded into a hoarse sob, and he was unable to speak.

Icewater eyes raked the fell shadows of the forest for a glimpse of her pale form, but his gaze soon blurred beneath the weight of their salted burdens and he mouthed her name into the blackness once more.

She had become wasted, her once proudly strong form now wasted to a tattered pelt wrapped around what was barely a skeletal bundle. He wept openly now as she approached, with loud, racking sobs that he could not, would not, hide. Saliva pattered from her tongue to wet the earth with its poisonous organisms, and all at once Lecter thought wildly that he would enrage her, take the brunt of her bite to his throat, and be done with it all the same.

And yet, he could not bring himself to do such a thing — this was becoming quickly a common occurrence. The wolves of the Spine, as fierce and independent as they might be, were in need of guidance, and he had no intention of allowing that which Jinx had wrought to be so soon torn asunder.

Sos, Lecter repeated slowly, rooted to the loam upon which he stood. Why have You forsaken her, Mighty One? what evil has she done against You, that she should deserve such a fate? A ragged inhale of breath trailed his words; he longed with every fibre of his being to move forward, to embrace Jinx, but he was restrained by wholly damnable logic. Take me in her stead, Sos, he cried, his sylph's visage blurred almost unrecognizable by the saltwater that poured down his bloodied cheeks.

It occurred suddenly to him, with the force of a bone shattering, that his breath would span the entire timeline of Jinx's life. Images flashed before his eyes; Nanuq's swelling sides beneath her pale fur; the downy, tiny bodies held cupped carefully between Koios' forelegs; and the fierce Mambo cub, her eyes even then holding a vitality her great youth could not suppress. Her thirst for knowledge had been beyond her years, however, and the weatherwitch had gladly taken her as his pupil.

And Lecter had loved her, first as a mentor might adore a promising student, but he had fallen hopelessly ensnared by her vivacity, her savage beauty that flared with the prowess of an older wolfess beneath the barely-bloomed angles of her youthful form. Perhaps he was fated to take such an interest in her; the black magick of her father working its way into their twinned lives. But the shaman believed in no such thing; a powerful Houngan had he been, Koios, but he had not influenced Lecter in favour of Jinx.

He had loved her, and now he would watch her die, his mind mercifully lined with memories of more joyous times. And yet, and yet — the madman wondered if he had been the cause of all this. It had not been in Sos' favour to grant them children; perhaps by taking her for lover he had had angered the Dark One in some way, and now Sos would take Jinx's life as sacrifice for the wrongdoing.

Houngan, she muttered raspily, and he felt as if she were calling for her father, he who had died far too soon and had not seen the great light of the Loa enter Jinx, fill her with a tangible power. Soon, Lecter crooned in a painful sing-song tone to his mate. You shall rest with him soon.

A stiff step toward her was taken then, for he could not help himself; the draw, despite the mad jerks of her body, her rolling, dry eyes, was not one easily resisted. If only, but for a moment; he prayed for one iota of time in which to hold her, to still the feverish movements of her limbs, the maddened, half-coherent words which floated from her lips — one moment to embrace Jinx before she faded into the oblivion of death and departed him forever.

But he did none of these things. His love, she danced a threat and her slick teeth revealed themselves in a fatal threat. Kill me, he tempted with icewater eyes, but whatever bare hint of logic was left to him brought him backing out of her reach. She saw nothing. Lecter believed himself as unrecognizable to the once-fierce woman as he had ever been in either of their lives, and for a long span of moments he merely stood, watching her, his soul twisted into agonies.