The Hunt

The Hunt

As the winter fades and the night air is rich with new life,

She stirs again within.

The warm darkness is like silk against my skin,

Coaxing her closer and closer to the surface.

 

She aches to be set free to join the hunt,

To raise her face to the moon in adoration,

To feel the power of the earth beneath her feet.

 

Oh how I long to set her free, this beast inside.

If only for a moment.

The temptation to leave my world behind and lose myself is so strong on nights like these it leaves me breathless.

 

My biggest fear is that once she gets a taste of freedom, there will be no returning to the life before.

I fear the freedom, I fear the power, for with it comes violent instincts long repressed.

 

Would she ever give me back control?

Or even worse, would I even want it?

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Skinwalker

Skinwalker

 

You shouldn’t have hoped that one would see who you are.

They only see what you show them. Thank the Gods for that.

The different don’t belong.

You don’t belong.

 

You wouldn’t be able to control your hunger.

You’d lose yourself.

They’d judge.

You’d regret.

 

Regret is such an awful pain, it follows so closely.

It’s always nipping at your heels, tempting you to kick at it so it can justify the bite.

Can’t it just leave you to your loneliness for a moment?

Has pain no respect for pain?