Shadewood Drunk Nights are more fun than Sober Ones

She was no child to him; even if she was-
Ghosts of faces spun around them, his peripherals catching the unnaturally pale and viciously mournful, hurt, and desolate eyes of children who had been fell at his paws, by his teeth, with his wit. All six of them, he remembered. Innocent up until the day they had perished. Sithis guides them all now, and he was the wicked messiah instructed to deliver them all those fateless moons ago.

So in essence, her age, her beauty, they would not stop him. However, a woman’s teeth were needlesque to a man’s, swift as cat claws, mauling with enough swift ferocity to make timely getaways. He needed to tread carefully- his mind, regardless of how plagued it was, forever sought ways to avoid being caught. As by natural, he was an assassin, whether his title of it had been retired or not.

Her verdant gaze swore well enough that she would use such a betrayal against him.

”You are free to do so,” his words between them, simply too good to be true. “But within every single shade that follows you, I will be. Inch by inch, I will be closer- and you will not know until you realize that shadows do not breath.”

Slade haunted those who were against him, utilizing fear and morbid gore to frighten and despair his enemies. He knew his wile and guile, when to use it, and when to roguishly snatch up a passing lip of one who spoke fiendish to him. 
Her word crossed him, a curse from her lips as she threw it at him with the vehemence of a scorned mistress. Cry felt the acid sizzle against him, his ignorance of  her language preventing him from even knowing what brand of acid she used. But he had just spoken to her in the Nightmare Tongue, so what could he fault her for?

He took her sight in again, how her chest was thrust out, narrow but challenging, the embers of it all lying endlessly in her miraculous eyes. 
It was then, those same eyes distinctly seemed to morph to a simpler time, a place where he recalled faintly, her, a riverbank, the lack of life that had coursed  through them then. A rabbit pelt, a fish...a grateful smile afterwards...words being exchanged. Sun shining overhead as she diced fish up, placing it over the both of them. The walk, and how they had conversed through it all, a laughing pair, a kind and moral day. 

His throat welled up, swelling with a coarse resistance that forbade him from breathing. He could not swallow- he could not speak. 
Those glacials of his, the veil of below zero that had frosted them over, briefly fell as he found himself unsure of this moment. Unsure of what he had just indulged, of what monster he had just fed. 
But the hurt came when he could clearly see that he had lost something unbelievably valuable, a family member who had-

Turning on a dime, he fled, running as he had in youth from the bear who had wracked his back with such terrible scars. Ran like a coward, knowing not whether he should seek Gwen, or fearing that he would hurt her, too. He was unwell, despicable. He needed advice, help, insight. 

Shredding himself through the woods, the timber mix sought out Reiner, hoping the behemoth would know a cure for this sickness.

 

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