Firefly Glen [PHE] the type that makes me feel old

sobeille had done simulations.

in her mind she rehearsed this, from the moment she first saw mae and cygnet and knew the course of her actions. she'd seen the red doom writ upon the wall in chaotic scribble: this is what her life amounts to. a simulation with a clear goal, and a finite end.

ajei.

the simulation does not take into account how little experience sobeille has. she is far from the ultimate perfection of her craft: this is a novice's work. her hands tremble and her body shakes. adrenaline is juddering through her, making her a nervous drunk -- and mae, mae is a whole entire living body that does not want to make sobeille's second murder easy.

who can blame her? nobody wants to go.

sobeille's teeth pierce flesh with satisfying ease. the taste of salt and the bitter tonic of adrenaline flood her senses. she rips back and forth as savagely as she can, and suddenly her victim is rising among her.

bloodied. furious.

mae's teeth score across her cheek and take what feels like a pound of flesh with them. sobeille might have screamed in pain if it weren't for how intent she was on her task. she knows only the thundering urge to strangle; to eek out every last breath -- and it is mae's face she reaches for to see that vision fulfilled and that stupid, blind girl silenced for good.

suddenly, there is the peppering battery of teeth everywhere. teeth in her haunch. in her leg. her spine.

a packmate. cygnet. it was sobeille's mistake to rush to see this done, and now her skin pays the price. pain as she has never known it; it's keener than any fang, and slices her murderous concentration in half.

suddenly, she was aware how painfully unprepared she was for this. she has made mistakes. she has not planned this through. she shoved a hard shoulder to mae as hard as she could to dislodge her, and then whirled upon the assailant behind her.

but two against one -- even an amateur like sobeille knew that her success was now eclipsed by failure. the potent chemical of fear began to seep into the maddening cocktail of adrenaline that is pounding within her. she must escape. now.

so far sobeille has been eerily silent; her jaws part to deliver what must be a thousand vicious snaps in cygnet's face. more to throw her off balance than to actually connect -- but it is then she aimed a second sharp shove towards the one that could see, and if that unbalanced her enough, take advantage of the opening and bolt out into the star-studded meadow.

the plan had been poorly designed. her undoing. blood -- as much her own as mae's -- splattered down with every step she took.