Fairspell Meadow lucifer bleeds ichor

a pity, speaks the veiled other. pity? kitsune turns the word over and over in his mind, deconstructing it ...looking for any other meaning besides the one that jumps to the forefront of his mind as a shiver slithers up his spine: from tail to neck. he has been the hunter oft enough to get the creeping suspicion that he has now become the prey ...for no other reason than the fact that the other has not revealed himself; and yet the sweet and innocent part of the fae-like kitsune did not want to believe that his instinct of self-preservation was right. it couldn't be! for what reason was he being hunted? he wants to scoff at himself.

yet ...he cannot entirely shake the persistent feeling all the same.

should i? he asks, not in any way condescending. the word does not strike him as familiar and try as he might he cannot place it to anything in specific. to kitsune, it is just a word with no present meaning. like a word repeated one too many times that ceases to make sense any longer.