Shadewood the sun's blood on my hands [M]

Colours drained from her vision, and her world seemed to spin, tipping and tumbling into a void of nothing - where the snowbird's soul was detached from her body, and she watched with unfamiliar eyes as the king of the woods took the skin of her scruff into his jaws. She felt the stars as they clung to her mind when his body became intertwined with her own, and the ripples of feeling that wrapped their divine laces around her limbs, but no, she did not feel like herself. She had given herself solely to this man, this man consumed by greed. Raziel held a pearl in his palms; he could protect it from harm, or crush it into crystalline dust, for the wind to snatch away.

The monster takes and takes, consuming all in his grip and draining the land of the life it once bore - he swallows the songs from their lips, those flightless birds, and he tramples the newly-budding flower. Everything the light touches is pulled beneath his gentle hands, until he squeezes it dry and plagues the forest in his seething bucket of shadows. He feeds, then takes, tipping the balance of nature - he is not a monster, only a man, but his mind tugs the strings of destruction. There is no right, no wrong, only him, and the choices he makes. Will he be the death of innocence? Perhaps. Will she let him? Yes; Yes, she supposes she will. What other option does she have? She belongs to him, and he controls her heart.

So their souls did dance in their lustful embrace - once more a coalition of the moon's light and the night's tenebrosity, ribbons of monochrome to weave their fates yet again into the path of the other; into the darkness they would fall, together...

...Because she simply could not let go.