The devil has my ear today

Moath · (This post was last modified: January 19, 2019, 11:52 AM by Moath.)

There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run. Panic crept up my throat as I ran into yet another dead end, and realized he had led me here. Turning around, I found him...

Moath cleared his tongue of the last meal, miniature flecks of digested corpse sliding down his esophagus. The plate for the newest food was ready, and he ran the rough muscle over the insides of his teeth as he neared, freeing up the stained knives for their next murder. His mind reaches high and far for the best ways to dismember, to ruin, to reap from this male.

But a voice- his voice- stopped Moath from licking his chops, unhinging his locked jaws and christening the mirror image into damnation. With the voice, his shuffle ceased, and massive dome slowly crescented a tilt to his curiosity. How had this male stopped his carnage? The words were a breeze...but memories scalpeled through the psychopath’s mind and wrenched free a memory.

A whelping den, cries and scents of milk and blood and pain and glee hidden amongst the brambles thickets. Moath, 2 years old, stood silently at the den’s entrance, unable to embark on his usual murder of the mother and eventual leave of the pups - as this was his own blood he would be ceasing.
The reality held his windpipe, and the plume of exhale ceased from his nares piped barrel.

This male was Family. His own Blood. And that was something he could not harm.

Eclipse blue amethysts scaled over the man’s face, feeling recognition from memory. And inclined to respond finally as his mind made sense and peace with it, his carnal lust dispersed momentarily.

“Moath.” the graveled rumble of death, decay and dismay rolled a cloud of speech cologned with torment to the younger brute. Moath clearly didn’t enjoy talking, nor was very good at it, so accurate conversation would certainly be out of the question. But returning his crown to its regular straight degree, he had no plans to ask the man back his own name. It hadn’t mattered much to Moath, but it was what it was.

And in silence, he waited.