#clay || visage

[divxne-calcmity]

// Lookit this lad, he just got a compliment and is blushing something fierce!

Off topic but should I add this soft man to the roster here?

[wolfofwinchester]

❄️

[rocxyoulikeahurricane]

Hey! So I did a lil sketchy of your Adam at the Blood Ball, hope that's okay. <3

hgggfgts OMG you beautiful person, Thank you so much!!! @sashybash

[petitmonsieur1]

Green clay

[zanmor]

Skull portraiture is amazing and it's a real shame that hasn't stuck around as a wide cultural practice.

Check out this amazing art from 9000 years ago:

More than 4000 years before the dynasties of Egypt, people were treating the dead in truly reverent and beautiful ways. It leaves me with little wonder that so many religious beliefs professed life's creation from clay. A skilled neolithic artist could keep a loved one with them for years after death by use of clay.

Would that your face looked that good 9000 years after death.

[void-multimuse]

Celestial Primate ! MK

[One of the Alternate Universes that can be requested for people who like alt-first meetings!]

tldr; What if MK was born in his demon form and never met Sun Wukong or trained under him.

(Kinda half-headcanon on MK's origins, half-what if scenario.)

His Celestial Primate name is Zodiac Clay Monkey /Shengxiao Ni'hou although I don't know any chinese so it is up to be changed, I wanted to keep the four character naming scheme the other Celestial Primates have.

He still answers to MK, as it is his preferred name, but Celestial Primates are kind of a big deal, and suddenly finding out a fifth one has been living among those the mortal realm is also, kind of a big deal.

MK hasn't been properly trained, nor does he have Monkey King's staff, unless someone goads him into picking it up and releasing DBK. He fights a bit more feral, tooth and nail, and uses his electric and technomancy powers to do most of his scrapping, but he's not one to pick fights.

He wants to be a regular noodle delivery boy for his Dadsy like in canon, but its kind of hard when your one of only five of your kind and people keep giving you weird looks or trying to kidnap you and drain your power.

Shengxiao was carved using clay from Flower Fruit Mountain, with fragments of Sun Wukong's stone mixed into the mud, along with other creatures based on the Zodiac and other constellations like Ursa Major. Shengxiao is the only figure to come to life. This gives him access to the same powers as the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, though they're mostly dormant.

Before he was finished being created, the celestial realm attempted to destroy him, causing him to be incomplete and fractured spiritually. This storm also knocked him off Flower Fruit Mountain and sent him to the mainland, where Pigsy took the still underdeveloped monkey demon in and raised him as his own.

[mcnstersvsaliens]

" Once again, monsters save the world. "

[missmonstermel]

AVAILABLE NOW! This faux metal Lucky Maw House Howler is in the sh op right now! ( link in bi o ) This 10” wide wall sculpture was originally sculpted in wax clay and has been cast in urethane. It is hand painted and mounted on laser cut board. A silk cord allows it to be hung and brass bells decorate the howling visage! #missmonster #missmonstermel #luckymawhousehowler #lion #dragon #wallplaque #sculpture #foodog #shisa

[skrunksthatwunk]

actually i'm still thinking about the moral orel finale.

he has a cross on his wall. do you know how much i think about that bc it's a lot.

a lot of stories ((auto)biographical or fictional) centering escape from abusive/fundamentalist christianity result in the lead characters leaving behind christianity entirely. and that makes complete sense! people often grow disillusioned with the associated systems and beliefs, and when it was something used to hurt them or something so inseparable from their abuse that they can't engage with it without hurting, it makes total sense that they would disengage entirely. and sometimes they just figure out that they don't really believe in god/a christian god/etc. a healthy deconstruction process can sometimes look like becoming an atheist or converting to another religion. it's all case by case. (note: i'm sure this happens with other religions as well, i'm just most familiar with christian versions of this phenomenon).

but in orel's case, his faith was one of the few things that actually brought him comfort and joy. he loved god, y'know? genuinely. and he felt loved by god and supported by him when he had no one else. and the abuses he faced were in how the people in his life twisted religion to control others, to run away from themselves, to shield them from others, etc. and often, orel's conflicts with how they acted out christianity come as a direct result of his purer understanding of god/jesus/whatever ("aren't we supposed to be like this/do that?" met with an adult's excuse for their own behavior or the fastest way they could think of to get orel to leave them alone (i.e. orel saying i thought we weren't supposed to lie? and clay saying uhhh it doesn't count if you're lying to yourself)). the little guy played catch with god instead of his dad, like.. his faith was real, and his love was real. and i think it's a good choice to have orel maintain something that was so important to him and such a grounding, comforting force in the midst of. All That Stuff Moralton Was Up To/Put Him Through. being all about jesus was not the problem, in orel's case.

and i know i'm mostly assuming that orel ended up in a healthier, less rigid version of christianity, but i feel like that's something that was hinted at a lot through the series, that that's the direction he'd go. when he meditates during the prayer bee and accepts stephanie's different way to communicate, incorporating elements of buddhism into his faith; when he has his I AM A CHURCH breakdown (removing himself from the institution and realizing he can be like,, the center of his own faith? taking a more individualistic approach? but Truly Going Through It at the same time), his acceptance (...sometimes) of those who are different from him and condemned by the adults of moralton (stephanie (lesbian icon stephanie my beloved), christina (who's like. just a slightly different form of fundie protestant from him), dr chosenberg (the jewish doctor from otherton in holy visage)). his track record on this isn't perfect, but it gets better as orel starts maturing and picking up on what an absolute shitfest moralton is. it's all ways of questioning the things he's been taught, and it makes sense that it would lead to a bigger questioning as he puts those pieces together more. anyway i think part of his growth is weeding out all the lost commandments of his upbringing and focusing on what faith means to him, and what he thinks it should mean. how he wants to see the world and how he wants to treat people and what he thinks is okay and right, and looking to religion for guidance in that, not as like. a way to justify hurting those he's afraid or resentful of, as his role models did.

he's coming to his own conclusions rather than obediently, unquestioningly taking in what others say. but he's still listening to pick out the parts that make sense to him. (edit/note: and it's his compassion and his faith that are the primary motivations for this questioning and revisal process, both of individual cases and, eventually, the final boss that is christianity.) it makes perfect sense as the conclusion to his character arc and it fits the overall approach of the show far better. it's good is what i'm saying.

and i think it's important to show that kind of ending, because that's a pretty common and equally valid result of deconstruction. and i think it cements the show's treatment of christianity as something that's often (and maybe even easily) exploited, but not something inherently bad. something that can be very positive, even. guys he even has a dog he's not afraid of loving anymore. he's not afraid of loving anyone more than jesus and i don't think it's because he loves this dog less than bartholomew (though he was probably far more desperate for healthy affection and companionship when he was younger). i think it's because he figures god would want him to love that dog. he's choosing to believe that god would want him to love and to be happy and to be kind. he's not afraid of loving in the wrong way do you know how cool that is he's taking back control he's taking back something he loves from his abusers im so normal

[wolfofwinchester]

Portrait.

[catcas22]

Hi Cat!

I was wondering if you have any thoughts on the description of the Lamenter's Mask!

A stone mask twisted into an expression of rapturous grief. Use while disrobed to transform into a lamenter.

The change cannot be undone except by death. Using this mask while already transformed causes the head to swell in size.

This transformation tallies with the state of a denizen of paradise, but the people of the tower denied and hid it from the world. In their foolishness, they viewed true bliss with deep fear.

I think this could have some interesting implications for the Age of the Crucible. It's also rather curious that the Hornsent ("people of the tower") would "deny and hide" the Crucible transformation.

As an aside, what do you make of the Lamenters in general? They have the skin/horns/scars of Omens, but their humanlike proportions are what throws me. With the exception of Morgott and Mohg (who are demigods and therefore probably not good type specimens), Omens have this barrel-chested, stubby, ogrelike physique. The implication that Lamenters are made, not born, and the ways in which their appearance differs from the Omen are super interesting to me.

Hi Bri, thanks for the ask!

This one kept me up all night :P I think I actually found a plausible answer! Let me start by laying out what we know of the Lamenter at face value.

Lamenter's Mask

A stone mask twisted into an expression of rapturous grief. Use while disrobed to transform into a lamenter.

The change cannot be undone except by death. Using this mask while already transformed causes the head to swell in size.

This transformation tallies with the state of a denizen of paradise, but the people of the tower denied and hid it from the world. In their foolishness, they viewed true bliss with deep fear.

Lamenting Visage

A stone lantern carved to resemble a lamenting human head, the eyes vacantly beaming out light. Can be raised up when equipped in the left hand, illuminating more of the surrounding area. The unusual expression somehow imparts a sense of contentment. The languid ease of one who needs not sight.

Prattling Pate "Lamentation"

Twisted clay sculpt in the shape of a human head. Emits a blissful "Lamentation".

The voice resounds, seeping into the brain.

Weeping, weeping, weeping. Ever weeping.

Other important points -- all of these items (and the Lamenter himself) are found in the Lamenter's Gaol, one of three gaols where those who will become jar innards are held and tortured before being processed. Additionally, the Lamenter seems to have horns curling back into both his eye sockets.

I see a common thread between these three descriptions. Despite all evidence, we are told that the grieving individual is actually perfectly content. The grief is "rapturous," the blinded Lamenter is experiencing "true bliss," his expression is actually one of "contentment" because he doesn't really need his eyes. Despite the Pate "weeping, weeping, weeping, ever weeping," we are told that this lamentation is "blissful." I don't buy it... And apparently, neither did the Tower Folk. Instead they viewed their creation with fear.

Let's back up a bit. We know that via the means of chopping people up and packing them in jars, the hornsent hoped to create "saints," specifically via rebirth.

Bonny Village Spirit

For pity's sake, your place is in the jar. Nigh-sainthood itself awaits you within. For shamans like you, this is your lot. Life were you accorded for this alone.

Greatjar

A greatjar which fits comfortably over the head when upturned. Attire of the shamans who perform their worship at gaols. Increases the power of thrown pots of all sizes. They offer their prayers to the innards of the greatjars, such that they might be reborn one day into sainthood. This is the cycle of death and rebirth, taken into the hands of mortal men.

(Note: In the first quote, "shaman" is translated from the Japanese "Miko," which consistently refers to Marika's people and could be better translated as "shrine maiden." In the second quote, "shaman" is translated from the Japanese "kitoushi" and connotes something more along the lines of a priest or an elder.) Thank you @drenched-in-sunlight!

We also know that the hornsent see horns as a symbol of the divine, the bigger the better.

Fine Crucible Feather Talisman

A talisman fashioned from thin feathers that embody the aspects of various creatures. Said to have grown on the human body long ago. Improves backsteps but increases damage taken at all times. Hornsent view the Crucible as sacred for the refinement wrought through its evolutionary gifts. Most prominently, their tangled horns.

Horned Bairn

Doll of a tanglehorn bairn. Uses FP to summon vengeful spirits around the caster that autonomously chase down foes. Tangled horns are a symbol of spirituality, but most young born bearing the oversized horns meet a frightfully early demise. These fetishes are made to memorialize them.

Looking at omen in the base game, their horns seem much more chaotic and impractical than those of the hornsent. Most hornsent have a very manageable little crown of horns on their heads, and even the Horned Warrior's horns don't seem terribly impractical. Whereas omen horns seem like they would be both painful and extremely cumbersome.

(Sourced from BonfireVN on youtube)

While the standard omen enemies from the base game don't match the physique of the Lamenter, we do see a few examples of omen with lankier builds. Morgott is obviously larger than a common omen, but his proportions are that of a tall, rangy human. The Sanguine Nobles also seem to be omen, as they have horns that do not appear as part of their armor set.

(Sourced from Zullie the Witch on youtube)

The more ogre-like omen seem quite similar in build to the bloodfiends from the DLC.

Also, compare Mohg's build to Morgott's (both images sourced from Bonfire VN)

I wonder if the short, broad stature might be a side effect of glutting oneself on the power of the Formless Mother. We know she tends to choose her vassals from among the oppressed, we know that Esgar Priest of Blood was proselytizing in Leyndell's sewers, and we know from the Sacred Bloody Flesh item that the bloodfiends consume her blood as a standard part of their diet. The Sanguine Nobles seem to break the pattern, but they could be newer recruits, or they could be more judicious in their consumption of blood. Either way, we have a few examples (Morgott and the Sanguine Nobles) of omen with a build similar to the Lamenter.

One more point before I start bringing this to a conclusion -- although we only have visual clues to go on with the omen, with the misbegotten we know for a fact that their Crucible mutations come with health complications and cause them a degree of pain. Perfumer Tricia made it her life's work to treat such cases, and in the main game we see many misbegotten in Leyndell who appear to be seeking treatment from other perfumers.

Back to the Lamenter. I proposed in a previous theory (x) that omen might be the product of the hornsents' attempts to produce a "saint." Via the Dungeater's questline, we know it works in concept. By torturing a person in a specific way and doing unspeakable things to their soul, you can cause them to be reincarnated as an omen. I think that's exactly what the Lamenter is -- an early success. A saint.

The problem being, he's in obvious pain. He has horns growing through both of his eyes, and he's constantly wailing. He is everything that a hornsent raised in that culture would aspire to be, and by that same fact he lives a life of constant pain, darkness, and misery.

Of course they reject him. First they try to convince their followers that his weeping is actually an expression of bliss. He's blind because he's too enlightened to need his eyes (think the way the cultists in Midsommar talk about the disabled oracle). When that doesn't catch on, they lock him away and keep trying. It adds yet another twist of tragedy to the atrocities of the Potentates -- sainthood is not a goal just beyond their reach. They've already found it. And after all the innocent lives that they sacrificed to create that saint, they can't stand to look at him.

Thanks for the ask!

[oneandocey]

A little faith

It's a tainted term,

Faith,

I ask not for prayer,

But suspension,

Imagine for a moment,

The end result,

Shape it's visage in clay,

Believe,

Not in deities,

But the hands that climbed the mountain.

[void-multimuse]

Anyone want a monkie kid? Like for a starter for an MK in "Born From a Clay Imitation" AU

The special still hasn't left my head so I wanna throw my clay monkie at people. Maybe he'll land in a furnace and turn into a ceramic monkie who knows?

[delinquentfiction]

A Night of Pampering With Vil

Content: Vil x Reader, fluff, spa day, romantic, kisses, pet names (Darling, Kitten, Petal, Dear), no use of y/n

Tw: None

Word count: 1140

You knocked politely on the imposing dorm door, practically vibrating with excitement. Today was a self-care Saturday, as Vil had dubbed your regular bonding sessions of indulgent relaxation. And you were more than ready to soak in his pampering aura.

"Come in darling, I'm just finishing up in here!" Vil called melodically.

Pushing open the door, you were immediately greeted by a heavenly aroma of rose scent wafting through the lavish lounge area. Soft classical music floated through hidden speakers, soothing your soul. But your attention was stolen by Vil emerging from his spacious bathroom, clad in a silky robe with damp hair tousled fetchingly.

How Neige was considered more beautiful than him you couldn���t figure, especially in moments like this. Fuck, the man looked like he was sculpted by the angels themselves. You hated how sometimes the blonde watching his figure so closely meant that you had to give up some simple pleasures, especially in the beginning, but clearly the work works out. If only the french fries and small bags of chips you would sneak didn’t taste so good. If only they didn’t taste better when you sneak them.

"Come here kitten, let me get a look at that lovely face of yours." He cooed, taking your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your visage this way and that under scrutinizing eyes.

Vil hummed in approval. "Good, no unsightly blemishes to speak of. Now, have a seat and I'll fetch my supplies."

You giggled, obediently perching on the plush chaise lounge. Moments later Vil reappeared with an armful of ornate bottles and tubs, laying them out ceremoniously on the coffee table before you. His nimble fingers got to work smoothing aromatic creams and serum into your skin, massaging deftly. You melted into his touch with a contented sigh.

Next came a clay mask infused with calming scents, mixed fresh for optimal potency. Vil expertly applied the cool mixture, sculpting it to your features in sweeping strokes. Gingerly tapping your nose, he winked. "All done darling, now just ten minutes for it to work its magic. We'll chat and sip tea, yes?"

Vil set about preparing a luxurious pot of rooibos with honey, chatting idly about the latest campus gossip during the wait. Before long he proclaimed your mask fully cured, carefully peeling it away to reveal radiant skin beneath. You gasped - already you felt rejuvenated on a deep level.

"Simply stunning, as I knew you would be, my petal." Vil praised, cupping your chin affectionately.

A brush of his thumb along your lower lip set your heart skipping, though the moment passed as he began applying rich lotions to lock in moisture. With finishing spritzes of setting mist, you were left the picture of pampered bliss.

"Now for the pièce de résistance!" Vil declared dramatically, rising in a flourish.

He returned promptly with an armful of silky fabrics, laying them out like pieces of a puzzle atop his sumptuous canopy bed. Selecting two options, he held them up for your inspection. "The emerald shall bring out the gorgeous azure of your eyes darling, but the rose quartz may better suit your rosy complexion. Decisions, decisions..."

You considered briefly before gesturing to the rose, touched by his care in selecting colors flattering your features. Vil beamed, gathering the garment to hold against your form appraisingly.

"Exquisite choice as always, now let's get you dressed." He hummed, helping you slip into the floating silk robe and sneaking a delicate kiss on your shoulder. It was light, but you felt it and it caused a slight heat to grow on your cheeks. With nimble fingers he tied the sash, smoothing the fine material over your shoulders. "Gorgeous, simply gorgeous, my petal."

Stepping back, Vil admired his handiwork before setting to styling your hair. Gentle brushes and delicate braids worked your locks into an elaborate updo, stray curls artfully framing your face. Finally, he applied the barest touches of makeup to accentuate your natural beauty - pink balm to plump your lips, wisps of shadow to make your eyes pop.

Spinning you to face the full length mirror with a flourish, Vil gazed proudly over your shoulder at the vision before you both. "My dear, you take my breath away. Come, let's bask in the glow of your allure together, shall we?"

His arm settled around your waist, pulling your back against his robust chest as you admired your reflection. With his chiselled jawline dusted pink and lustrous hair tousled roguishly, Vil was quite the statuesque specimen himself. Turning in his hold, you wrapped your arms around his neck in thanks.

Vil murmured your name affectionately, leaning in to brush featherlight kisses across your forehead, cheeks and nose until you were both breathless with giggles. His arms tightened around your waist, looking deeply into your eyes as if searching for something. Your breath hitched under the intensity of his gaze.

But the moment passed as Vil reclined gracefully against mountains of satin pillows, patting the space beside him invitingly. You readily cuddled into his side with a contented sigh, idly tracing patterns on his chest through the gauzy robe as relaxing melodies washed over you both once more. The blonde at one point delicately holds your cheek and stares into your eyes once more, however he didn’t seem to be looking for something. He seemed to have found it and leaned down while you allowed your eyes to flutter closed and the warmth of his lips met yours for a good minute or so before breaking the contact. You shyly smile at him before hiding your face back in his robe. The heat in your face was sustained by his larger hand tangling its fingers with your own.

You felt his chest rise and slightly hum as he spoke once more, “My petal, your newly found radiance and confidence over time together has seemed to captivate even myself. Might I have the honor of courting you properly?”

If you had given a verbal response, you think you would just end up shouting the answer. So instead, you nod, a big smile creeping onto your face. He lifted the hand he had been holding and placed a kiss on the back of it. You could feel his smile against your now softer skin. “Wonderful, my dear. Now get some beauty rest so you don’t get demoted to potato again.”

Hours passed by like this, basking in each other's company as the sunlight slowly waned outside. Such pampering self-care sessions had become the highlight of your weeks spent amidst the hustle of school. But nestled securely in Vil's capable arms while his digits toyed with your hair, you thought maybe you found something even more soothing than any skincare ritual or carefully crafted ensemble. For here, you felt beautiful inside and out.

[admistedenslush]

Eve’s Curse - Aemond Targaryen/Reader

Summary: In paradise, you and Jace live peacefully until a fallen angel disturbs the peace.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

With bare feet, you stand in the dirt under the towering tree, whose shade shields you from the hot rays of the sun.

You embrace the evergreen intimately, with your right cheek and breasts pressed against the trunk, feeling the hard coarse surface on your skin.

Small cracking noises and rustling of the woods disturbed your tranquil mood. Looking past the tree, you take a careful glance at your surroundings.

You didn't even realize you were holding your breath until your pounding heart ached in your chest.

A wave of unfamiliar emotions washes over you, disrupting the calm that once defined your existence. As your stomach clenches, you spin around, searching for your beloved Jace.

As you whirl around, your eyes widen with alarm at the sight of a tall figure standing before you. Before you can let out a scream, his massive palm clamps over your mouth, taking your breath away.

As your lips grew warm, an unfamiliar sensation. The trickle of your saliva under his hand intensified the burning, creating a discomfort that you resisted the urge to react to.

Instead, your unwavering gaze remained fixed on the captivating man standing before you. There was an undeniable allure in his presence, his beauty radiating, that held you captivated.

Noticing the tears welling in your eyes, the man withdrew his hand from your mouth, understanding the profound impact his touch had on you.

“An angel's touch can set a mortal ablaze,” he murmured, his voice tinged with an air of mystery.

Intrigued, you took a shallow breath, your voice barely a whisper as you responded in wonder, “An angel?

The man looked down at you; he smiled with a glint of laughable pity in his eyes, muttering sweetly 

“Looks like your master couldn't keep a tight leash on you?”

The man's sardonic grin betrayed his condescending thoughts as he found the humor in an otherwise dim-witted exchange.

Your throat caught up with the collecting saliva in his mouth, spluttering before you could even plead for mercy.

“Faint of heart, dear girl?”

With a quiver in your voice and a furrowed brow, you timidly pose the question, “Who are you?”

His smirking visage seemed to glow with amusement as he hummed in response, offering his answer with a glint in his eye, “Thank you for inquiring. I go by the name of Aemond, my dear.”

“Aemond? The fallen angel? The foe of the gods?” you spoke with a hint of newfound confidence, seeking confirmation.

Enraged and consumed by anger, Aemond grasped your throat, robbing you of breath again, and leaned in close to your face, his lip in a snarl.

“Soon, you will come to understand who the true enemy is. The gods, who forsake their creations out of fear of their knowledge,” he declared.

Gasping for air, you spoke through his tight grip.

“You are the one who denied my race and refused to submit to Jace,” you choked out.

“Why should I bow down to a mere mortal, composed of nothing but dust and clay?” he replied, his voice dripping with fury. He continued,

“He should worship my scorching flames, for I am forged from fire, a force too mighty for that boy to ever tame.”

His thick hand wrapped around your throat, ignited a soft, involuntary moan to escape your lips. As you yearned for release from the exhilarating tension that coiled within your being, you pressed your thighs together, seeking solace in the delicate embrace.

Aemonds eyes shimmered, forgetting his anger. “But you enjoy it, don't you, my dear? You relish my touch.”

You were left breathless, unable to even contemplate Jace's whereabouts. The fallen angel released you from its grip and directed its gaze back to the grand tree.

“Tell me, what did the gods reveal to you and the boy with mousy hair concerning the saplings of Eden?”

You studied the man with caution, your thoughts still somewhat fuzzy, longing for the warmth of his touch.

“They warned us against consuming the fruit.”

Aemond, displaying his ever-growing cunningest, retorted with a sly smile, “So, the gods told you that you can't eat from any tree in this splendid garden?”

You responded, your innocence shining through," We may enjoy the fruit of all the trees except for one. The Gods warned us not to partake of the fruit of the tree in the center, cautioning that touching it would lead to death.”

Aemond glanced at his feet before meeting your gaze once again. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he declared, “You see, this whole idea of the forbidden tree, it's all just a sham. Can't you see that? It's meant to scare you into denying yourself earthly delights. You won't die. In fact, the gods know that once you take a bite, your eyes will be opened, and you'll ascend to their level, understanding the realms of good, evil, and desire. They won't have control over you anymore.”

Then, he added in a low tone, “Don't you yearn to experience genuine pleasure? You enjoyed the way I touched you… what if I were to show you even more?”

You coyly concealed your hands behind your back, offering Aemond a sweet smile as you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. “Do you think we should ask Jace to join us as well?” you teased, a playful edge to your voice.

Aemond, reveling in the game, trailed his fingers through your hair, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Oh, my dear,” he purred, his voice dripping with his cunning charm, “that sounds positively wicked. Let's make it a delightful trio.”

[winged-self-indulgence]

Part (?)

“Oh Dove~” Z’s voice carried on the night wind, echoing through the dark trees. A low, lilting drawl that raked across your skin and threaded into your ears. You would have covered them, but then how else would you be able to hear his footsteps crunching over the damp leaves and sticks that littered the forest floor? How else would you divine the direction of the mocking whisper drifting on the breeze? “Where are you, my little human? Come on out, sweetheart. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, hm?”

Swallowing back the scream in your throat, you pushed yourself further into the shadows, pressing your back hard against the wide trunk of the birch tree you had chosen for shelter. Your options had been severely limited – a large boulder, some bushes, and a stack of tires someone had dumped. There weren’t many places to hide. Not without running deeper into the darkness and risking discovery.

It was fine. You would be fine, you reminded yourself on a deep breath. You just needed to stay still, stay quiet, and the demon would eventually look elsewhere. Then this whole game would be over.

Z’s steps were in no way silent. The demon stalked the moonlit darkness with utter temerity, every rustle and crack igniting every instinct in you that begged you to run, run, run.

“You know something?” Z asked. His tone was almost conversational, and in the silence, it rang out like a beacon just taunting you to try and escape. There was an odd quality to it as well, a raspy undercurrent that you had never heard before. Or perhaps you had, but without any other ambient noise it seemed far more obvious to your human ears. “I’m a little hurt. You ran away so quickly, baby. What, did I frighten you?”

A sharp crack split the air as though to punctuate the statement, and you clapped your hands over your mouth to muffle the shocked noise inside your throat. You waited breathlessly for a long moment, but the forest remained eerily silent, with only the distant sound of faraway cars and whispering branches to disrupt the quiet. You waited some more, a frown creasing your forehead. Was Z just…standing there?

Slowly, oh so slowly, you pushed upwards and craned your neck around the tree trunk – eyes scanning the dimness for Z and the source of the noise. You didn’t find the former, but it did not take long to find the latter.

The boulder, the massive moss-covered rock, had been cracked cleanly in half. The moonlight shone through the canopy of leaves, illuminating a stony visage with five jagged claw marks gouged at least an inch deep as though it were made of clay.

A warm breath on the base of your neck froze you in place, even as goosebumps erupted over your skin. A feather-light touch against the back of your neck spurred you to life, but you scarcely had enough time to roll onto your knees before a clawed, silver-clad hand slammed into the bark by the side of your head hard enough to shake the whole tree.

Z grinned, all vicious teeth and even more desperate greed as he backed you up tighter against the tree with a smug, “Found you~." The hand not imprisoning you in place curled over your chin, a firm hand squeezing the sides of your jaw until your mouth had no choice but to open wide for a finger, and then another.

"Behind a tree?" Z clicked his tongue in mock disappointment, pressing his thumb against the inner side of your cheek so that the skin bulged cutely on the outside. "Be honest with me Dove, were you trying to get caught?”

You didn’t reply. There was no point and no time to hesitate. Instead, you rolled to the side, staggered to your feet and bolted. If there was less adrenaline crowding your brain, you might have realized how easy your escape had been, that they’d let you run away. You might have noticed the way the trees began to warp in on themselves, the trampled path twisting in and out of itself in repetitive loops.

But all you could pay attention to were the eyes. Scarlet will ‘o’ the wisps hovering at the edges of your vision, ahead of you, behind you. The gleeful cackle reverberating all around you, the snap of teeth at your heels, the scratch of claws on your back.

“You aren’t getting away that easily, sweetheart,” Z called out to you in a voice that came from the sky, the grass, inside your chest where your heart beat like a war drum. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to stop, and then you’ll be all mine.”