Dahozhoni Meadow the red crown

and as the vultures hover in bleak delight, it is a reaper that manifests from the vile depths of purgatory. as if a sculptor had torn out their own teeth to build the foundation of his reptilian bones. broken nails now splintered whiskers as gouged eyes misshaped the clay that once molded him. 

impure, imperfect, impious. and she is delighted by it. 

an acolyte preens through the sensitive fur tracing from ear to cheekbone as she watches the wraith watch her, watch him, watch them. they are lively spinning webs of declaration to the reaches of the sacred meadow. poison seeped to soil and rain, their mark left through shrouded runes. 

a shoulder rolls to dismiss her attendant and in the next moment she is spinning away, the sway of her tail a test to their distant witness.