Posted by Phobia on December 22, 2005, 2:36 pm, in reply to "I'm dancing on my own grave." But the demon would be there. It would be in the earth. The demon was everywhere, it always would be. The moon, smiling down on him, begging to take him for a moment and hold him close, hold him before ripping the breath from his lungs and leaving him bleeding from his eyes and screaming in the sky. Like a star; like a loud bloody star. He would sing songs to the clouds, and though he’d be screaming it’d be like beautiful melodies, the clouds would chuckle as they watched him bleed. Phobia would be the demon’s toy then, he’d be played with, like a marionette on strings. The wolf increased his speed, his thin frame shaking. A chilling breeze spread across his mangy onyx pelt, and it was the breath of the demon. It would burn him eventually, right now it was cold, but it would burn him, someday it would. Phobia halted suddenly, his red optics widening in terror. There was the demon, the demon, the… De… De… Demon. In front of him, cold as fire, hot as ice, dripping from open wounds filled with puss induced flesh. His sockets where eyes used to be were staring at him, the gaping indents filled with blood in which maggots swam. The immense black dragon smiled, his fangs dripping with neon green poison, which dribbled down it’s chin and pooled on the ground near his feet. Phobia opened his mouth to scream, and a howl rose on the wind, filled with horror. The wolf spun around, dashing towards the water’s edge. He would try again to get away, though the moon would be there, the demon, it’s fangs, it watching him and laughing, ever so jolly. It would dance and flit it’s wings and bound and leap through the sky. The moon burning brightly as it watched him, and the demon would cradle him in it’s arms, singing it a lullaby about death. Phobia wasn’t watching as he ran, running blindly, only wanting to escape that which he would never, never, never escape. A sudden collision sent the brute skidding to the ground. He lay there, panting and shaking from fear and exhaustion. His crimson orbs turned upwards to examine what had blocked his path to freedom. The wolf stared at the fae, examining her silently. Was she the demon? Who was the demon, the moon, what was the moon, a demon, a thorn, he hurt, it hurt the demon did the moon did. Recognition lit Phobia’s face. He had met this wolfess before. He remembered her. The brute lay where he was, parting his jaws slowly, his weak voice rising to meet the ears of the lupine in front of him, “Ji-Hi…I…I’m sorry.” He turned his face to his paws, taking a deep breath to still himself.
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The moon was rising in the sky. It was coming for him; again, it would always come for him. It’s fangs were exposed as it grinned wickedly. The deep blood red of it’s eyes focused on the brute that slunk through the grounds. He would never escape. Why did he even try to escape? He didn’t know, yet he did, always would, always had, always. Phobia growled lowly, trying to flatten his body against the earth. Maybe, maybe he could be flatten himself so much that he’d become part of the earth, sink into the earth, become ground and moisture and worms and death and cold cold cold cold earth.
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