>>6013950>>6014164>>6014168>>6014178>>6014242>>6014352>>6014465>>6014566>>6015039https://files.catbox.moe/lrdus5.mp3The wool burned in a way it wasn’t suppose to, crumbling into blackened cinders around you. Your kept your eyes tightly shut, hoping that she would disappear. The she-demon did not. She leaned over, grabbing the bed’s sides with her claws, her shining red eyes hovering just above your chest. After a tense silence, she shoved a finger finger into your chest, the left side of it, pushing the air from your lungs and making you gasp for more.
“There it is, I can see it!” she said, her heated claw trying to fit the form of a scar above your heart. “I wouldn’t— I couldn’t—mistake it for anything else, a wound only the great Dragon-Beast Pyrathor could leave behind!”
What in the world was she talking about? The scar was not of some Pyrathor, but from a wolf you mistakenly thought dead. You groaned, raising your gaze to her face: it was grey, like slate. Her hair so white it was as if she saw herself in the mirror. Her red freckles flared like embers, and dark shadows deepened the hollows beneath her eyes.
She noticed you were awake and grinned, revealing her jagged, slightly crooked teeth. You flinched as she reached for you.
“And here’s another mark” —her tepid claws wrapped around your wrist— “A clear sign of a sealed cursed power!”
No, no, that was just a bruise from slamming your finger in a drawer, only just yesterday.
“This is a mistake—“ you said, your voice coming out weak.
The she-demon yanked you out of bed by your hand, pulling you into her arms without effort, one hand under your legs and the other supporting your back. Still grinning—with you struggling to find your voice or get dressed—she hurried to the shattered door and stepped outside. Despite the late hour, the village was alive with commotion: your neighbours shouting and rushing about in turmoil. There homed, too, had been broken into, their doors obliterated by … who-else? You glanced back at your white cat, his milky fur visible beneath the table where he hid. Count Whisker, don’t let her take me, you breathed.
“The Demon King won’t be deaf to the prophesy. I was here first, but not for long. Best we leave before that!”
Again, she didn’t let you ask. Beneath her spiked neck-warmer, her weaved coat slithered off her shoulders and puffed up, the woollen threads turning into raven feathers that unfurled into magnificent jet black wings.
She gripped your tighter, claws digging and her palms growing hotter, then, with a swoop of her wings, lifted you both into the sky. The biting cold lashed against your bare skin as she soared higher and higher.
