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

any taste of victory sobeille held between her fangs -- of blood, of skin, of fur -- was thieved by the chilling sound of more feet behind her.

and before she knew it, she was overwhelmed.

strength she had never known before seized the back of her neck and in that second sobeille knew her life was forfeit.

matted in blood, choking, snarling, fueled with hatred -- it all died in her mouth to feel alien teeth close on her spine.

this is what it amounts to, she thinks in that split second of fight or flight; knowing to run would be to unzip her spine from flesh -- knowing to give in would be to turn her life over.

all of everything roars to life in her mind: the spray of the sea, the salt, the wind. her maman. her legacy. ajei. the poisons. the bitterness. her sisters. tousaint. the red pearl. tante. the witch. cayetano. the legacy she envisioned for her children. her grave. chani -- it all moved and slid and oscillated together like stormwater in a shaken vessel.

sobeille took one last look of the life she'd lead until that moment; she saw the blood, and the discord, the violence. the scream of unhappiness. the satisfying slump of mae as she -- sobeille assumed -- died; sobeille closed her eyes. if i am to die, at least i took one with me when i go.

while cygnet reeled and screamed murder, sobeille relented under akavir's savage press of fangs -- waiting for that moment that she joined mae in the bloodied world of her own undoing.