Ravenshook Cliffs she made a garland of the broken weeds

Selfishly, the idea popped into his head no sooner than he saw her. But to be fair, to deprive himself of his innate desires was simply no fun. Perhaps he just missed @Alya.

Either way, his days of mindless pillaging and aimless killing were wholly more entertaining than the last few months of mundane and dreary tasks such as fishing and bird watching. Life on the bright side simply did not suit him, but at least he could say he tried. Ripping the girl’s neck open took far less effort than he previously thought, having been so out of practice for nearly half a year. He felt nothing as he did it but felt everything as her last pulse flickered and died out on his tongue. How could he have given it up for so long? The taste of her life, the doomed will to live, the pain, the last traces of life slipping away under his tooth and claw -- it was intoxicating in the most frivolous way. If only he could bring himself to feel the slightest shred of remorse, perhaps he might not have smiled as he did it. The relapse felt more like an unholy revitalization; as if someone had snapped their fingers and he arose from his ancient slumber like a vengeful god. But it was over before he knew it and her tiny limp body hung like a wet rag in his jaw; a child reduced to an empty carcass in under a minute. As he flung her body off the cliff to crash unto the storming rocks below, he found that was not enough. He could feel the familiar ache nestle comfortably within him, restoring itself as his catalyst and most valued motivator. Vaati craved destruction. Whether or not that was moronically typical to admit, he could not deny that it was something he basked in. Licking his chops, he then and there decided that sobriety was a loser’s cause, and a morally misguided venture to embark on in the first place.