#human sacrifice

[katerinaaqu]

I love it how everyone is so hyping over how sweet and romantic Achilles is or even his anger issues and rage but...can we all like talk more on how obsessed that kid was with human sacrifice?

I mean...he sacrifices 12 Trojans to the funeral pyre of Patroclus (and two of his dogs) and then demands Polyxena as his human sacrifice...

I feel no one remembers these 12 Trojans! Poor guys!

Patroclus from the afterlife be like: Dude...no!

[whereserpentswalk]

You were born to be a sacrifice. When you first exited your mothers womb the oracles decided that would be your fate. They tattooed your hands and forehead so everyone would know.

When you turn twenty, they'll take you to the church, and they'll set you on fire. And then when your body is burned they'll give your ashes for the angels, and the angels and saints will be proud, and bless your community and family with great riches. Or at least that's what they say.

When you were young it didn't seem to mean anything that you were born to die young. Nobody cared, they just saw you as another kid. But it was always there. Adults would ask other kids what they wanted to be when they grew up, but they'd ask you what you would do once you were a ruler in the court of heaven. They'd tell other kids about marriage and sex and having children, but for you that would just be for other people, you'd die a virgin.

And at a certain age, you were removed from school. Because they said you wouldn't need it. That you shouldn't be wasting your time on such things. And you didn't understand, but you understood that all your freinds were upset that they wouldn't see you anymore. Not as much at least. And people talked about you so much differently from then on. You weren't complimented as strong, or as smart, or as ambitious, you were pretty, and pure, and brave, and dutiful. And everyone talked about how proud they were of you, how wonderful it was that you were going to die for them.

They were so nice to you. They gave you so many gifts and jewelry. You got to spend all day inside playing video games, and you got the best toys and got to go to movies and plays when you wanted to. Soldiers in power armor would bow when they saw you, and robots and cyborgs would turn off their lights. And you sat at a special place in church, and the clothing you wore was diffrent then everyone else's. And people talked about how wonderful you were, and how pretty you were, and how much they loved having you when they knew you wouldn't be on this world for long. And they were so proud of you when they showed you the platinum clothing you would wear on the day of your sacrifice. And you didn't understand why but all of the compliments sounded sad.

As you grew older things changed. The other children went through puberty, but you didn't, they gave you surgery to prevent it, ans told you how pure you were for not producing blood or seed. And you were old enough to understand that you would die, that you would burn, and it would hurt, and that nobody really knew for sure what happened after peopled died. And you saw a sacrifice, and saw the pain they were in, and there weren't any angels, there were only priests watching and chanting, and the smell of burning skin.

Your parents and family started to care much more how you behave. To make sure you're polite. To make sure you're a good sacrifice, who the angels will like. And meanwhile while all your other freinds are going to college, and talking about becoming artists, or starship pilots, or scientists, you know you'll only ever have one ending. But still, everyone loves you, and you don't have responsibilities, but still sometimes you think about how much diffrent life would be if you were born differently.

You've started meeting people who've left the faith, or people who didn't grow up in it, people who believe in diffrent religions or in no religion at all. And your heaven seems less and less certain every day. According to imperial law you're allowed to be sacrificed, but if you choose not to they can't force you. But if you choose not to you can never be a part of your faith again, and your family will be disappointed in you forever. All your family and community, everyone who you ever knew, will consider you a failure, a coward doomed to hell for not going through with what the cosmos planned for you. And all that pride and joy they felt about your fate would be replaced with anger that you never became what they were so happy and proud about you being. You don't think you believe in heaven anymore, but you still might choose to die, if it means they're proud... it's what you're raised to do, you don't know who you'll be if you choose to leave.

Better choose fast darling, it's only a few months away now. You don't want them to be upset.

[luimagines]

Sacrificial Dues

Another Commission!

They asked for a human sacrifice to the one and only Fierce Deity. The events are as follows. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

It was at dawn, at the waking breaths of the earth when there was a shift of change in the air. It happened every now and then, but the air itself tasted different. Sweet. Sour. Acrid. Strange. It was strange. It was personal.

He had no name that he would have assigned himself. He was created with a purpose. His only job was to see it through. The humans however were less enthralled with the concept.

They had called him The Fierce Deity, a being worthy of praise or of contempt depending on who you ask.

He was fine with either, knowing that so long as no one was in his way to protect the humans from themselves and of other threats that sought to do them harm, he could handle any indignity that the universe threw at him. 

The way the humans looked at the way he worked was one of curiosity and reverence. The occasional unease trickled through the humans every now and then. More often than not, his presence was often followed by a surging sense of foreboding. The humans knew that wherever he went, violence was sure to follow.

Due to their misconceptions, they often sent him gifts for mercy- in vain hopes that his blade would never come against their people and to buy his peace and protection from the threats to them and their land.

The Fierce Deity would have done so regardless. It was his purpose. But the reason for his existence didn’t dictate that he shouldn’t accept the gifts and he wasn’t inclined to correct the people if it meant that they would give their continued cooperation. 

He was on his way to pick up the leftover gift when the stench in the air all but disturbed his very sense of balance. The humans were waiting for him. As in, multiple humans.

They had never bothered to wait for him before.

Cautious, he approached the no doubt fearful group. And it was a group. There were at least five individuals. Most appeared to be male (although he never considered himself very good at telling the humans apart from one another), but there was one in a bright, white gown that no doubt held significance to the humans he protected, but one he never bothered to learn.

All the humans bowed low to the ground at once, save for the one in the dress and waited until he stood in front of them to speak. They were all shaking, but only the one in the dress dared to look at him. Intriguing. The Deity noted this with a hidden grin. He favored the brave.

They were striking in appearance, adorned with many fine metals and jewels that were meant to accentuate their appearance. It worked. The god found himself fascinated by the particular shade of their eyes and the lines of their features.

“Oh great and mighty Fierce Deity.” One of the humans spoke with his face to the dirt. It had halted his blizzard fascination with the mortal they deemed worthy of being in his presence. “We have little to give. A famine has desecrated our lands and there is nothing of substance for Your Grace.”

The Fierce Deity stayed silent, for there was little he could do or say about the matter.

The human continued. “In hopes of mercy and time for the land to heal and produce, we offer the most beautiful of our people to you. They are yours to do with as you see fit.”

He stared at the pitiful man in the dirt by his boots. The deity… was perplexed  to say the least. He had no need for the humans to sacrifice to him to begin with. It was never part of his duties or his vows or purpose.

The human in question, now that the context was beginning to dawn on him, was tied by the wrists and no doubt tied by their ankles as well. 

Anger churred dangerously in his gut before he found the will to speak. He tried to cause as little fear in the humans as he could but this warranted the terror he’d produce in their hearts. “Are they a willing sacrifice?”

He may not be the most benevolent creature, but he wasn’t cruel. Ruthless, yes. Many a time. But cruel? He was built to protect, not destroy. The very thought made his blood boil. After all this time, had they thought so little of him? After everything he’s done for them?

His words had shaken the mortals to their core, giving the rope around his “sacrifice’s” wrists a deeper, far more twisted meaning. He raised his hand to the hilt of his sword before the mortal in question stepped forward, putting them between him and their captors.

“I am willing.” They said, swallowing the last of their fear, meeting his eyes at last. He could see their shoulders shake with the strength and force they exuded to keep their tremors hidden from his gaze. The Fierce Deity was trained to notice such subtleties in body language on all fronts, but once more, he admired their courage.

“Very well.” He rolled his shoulders, hoping to quell the unease and fury coiling around in his stomach. “And what am I to do with a human sacrifice?”

“Whatever you see fit.” Came a reply from the dirt before the sacrifice could answer for themselves. “A slave, a companion, a meal, a lover- just have mercy on us and our village.”

He growled.

The mortals flinched at the inhumane sound, attempting to burrow themselves into the ground as it was. Even his steely-eyed sacrifice had turned their gaze away with a wince at the otherworldly portrayal of rage.

“I may have to reconsider our arrangement.” He took a step back but took a breath to calm himself. Desperation drives even the most sane ones to madness. He will do himself no favors if he exudes punishment when they feel as if they have run out of options. Instead, he reaches a hand toward the adorned jewel among them, forcing his touch and demeanor into a more gentler tone. “Come. No harm will come to you… or your village.”

No matter how much he wanted to personally rain hell fire for this subordination. 

A life is a life and should never be used to curry favors.

The thought nearly had him growling once more at the back of his throat. He managed to quell the instinctual response for the sake of his impromptu guest, but he will have to have a heavy handed conversation with such village dwellers when he returns from his patrol.

Hesitantly, the mortal thrust into his care placed their hand in his, allowing their trust (and their very life) to be put into the palm of his hand.

“...Thank you.” Their near impossibly quiet voice was a gunshot through the tense atmosphere. He had thought they would be braver, more robust and forthcoming, but perhaps that had been in the moment of fear. And frankly, in comparison to the other mortals that had dropped to the earth at the sight of him, there was little contest between the two parties.

All the other mortals had all but fainted on the spot, relief filling every fiber of their beings as they went back to his domain. Once they had traveled a fair distance away from any more prying eyes, the Fierce Deity turned on his heel and took out his less impressive blade. A simple dagger, but just as sharp and deadly as his double helix sword.

He held the blade up and his… pet? The word felt infinitesimally wrong. Tossing the descriptors aside for now, he noticed that they had closed their eyes at the sight of a weapon in his hands. Their head had turned away and once more their shoulders shook with the effort they exuded to keep a calm facade.

He cut the ropes around their wrists.

It fell away at once.

Their head snapped to their wrists, taking in the weight of his actions. The Fierce Deity also took in the exposed flesh before him. Gently, he cradled their hands, looking at their abused wrists that had been rubbed raw from the coarse material that had bound them. He would need to find a salve for them. The skin was red and angry, flaking at certain parts to show that damage had taken place, but there was no blood. It would heal, unlikely to even scar.

Their breath had hitched under his consideration. He gently returned their hands to their sides. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

“You’re not going to kill me?” They blurted in response, clutching their wrists close to their chest. “I thought… I thought you’d-”

“I am not the cold hearted killer as you humans love to portray me.” He says in a not so quiet voice despite his best attempts. “I get no pleasure from the destruction of the innocent.”

Anger returned to the edges of his skin. It was bubbling with unrestrained energy at the implications of this so-called sacrifice. The mortal rubbed their wrists, following at the same slow pace he had kept them at despite his subconscious shift in speed. It was only when he had noticed they had begun to fall back did he remember his previous question and intent.

Groaning inwardly, he turned once more and stopped in front of the mortal. “I don’t like to repeat myself, but I am inclined to admit this was my own folly. However, for future reference, do not test my patience. I had asked if you were injured elsewhere.”

The mortal stood frozen to the earth before slowly lowering their head at long last. “...My ankles are also tied up.”

Inwardly, the Fierce Deity cursed, but that would have been very ungentlemanly behavior toward this poor soul. Scowling over this morning's events wasn’t beneath him however, so he lowered himself to the dirt and lifted the hem of the dress. “Excuse me.”

They squeaked, but made no move to stop him as he pushed the silken material aside. He reached in, taking their leg in his hand and pulled it towards him. His hands were rough and calloused from constant use and abuse from his battles and training regiment but their skin was nothing of the sort. It was soft, almost as silken as the dress they donned. He kept his gaze low, not wanting to appear too wanton but the skin contact was inciting reactions he hadn’t known he was capable of experiencing. 

He made no comment about it and said nothing to give away the thoughts in his head.

The Fierce Deity pulled the leg closer to him- until it was pulled taut against an opposing force. The rope. Leaning closer so that it would be easier for the both of them, he once again took up his dagger and reached for the rope within the fabric.

Their hands landed on his much larger shoulders to keep their balance as he quickly did away with the physical limitation to their mobility. Afterwards, he cut away the knot found at the base at their leg, right where they said it would be. His fingertips lingered for a moment longer.

They would have to apply more salve to the irritated skin than he initially guessed but their shoes (also adorned in a higher fashion to match the rest of the gown and jewels) had protected much of their flesh as it was.

Slowly, hoping to not startle this already shaken individual, he moved to the other side and repeated the process of gently moving the gown away and reaching for their leg. To his surprise, they cooperated quickly and allowed him to take the knot away from their other foot.

Once the job was complete, he detached himself quickly. No need to entertain strange and primal thoughts.

“Come.” He spoke again, leading them deeper in unknown territory. Since they were now free from their bonds, they were able to move at a much faster pace- however his stride was not easily matched by anyone and the Fierce Deity found himself needing to slow down in order to keep them close.

He may not live in the most dangerous part of the land (his very presence is enough to keep even the more foolish monsters at bay) but that didn’t mean that threats weren’t watching them both from within the shadows among them.

“Oh.” They exclaimed quietly to themselves when they had arrived at his home. They seemed surprised, although he could not fathom why. He looked at them and as if on cue, they were rambling to explain themselves. “I didn’t think you would have lived…. Like this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I have never needed much. What were you expecting?”

“Not a hut.” Came their honest reply. “I thought… a palace would have been more suited to you. Somewhere big and grandiose… not… Well, not this.”

He chuckled, startling his companion once more. “You humans know so little about me. Your assumptions are amusing.”

They laughed in return but it was stunted and weak. They were still nervous. “If… I may be so bold… what happens to me now?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? The Fierce Deity sighed and closed the distance to the front door. Opening it, he gestured to his guest to follow him in. “I do not intend to cause you harm. You need not fear for your safety or your life. However, I have no need for a servant or a slave…. And I do not enjoy the taste of human flesh.”

He added that last part in jest, hoping to dispel any lingering reservations about his violent nature. It didn’t appear to stick as he had hoped, then again, his voice was unnaturally stoic. “I will give you the choice to leave if you wish. There isn’t anything for you here.”

“...May I stay?”

Once more, this mortal had left him perplexed and intrigued. He had noted before that their braver had kept their head up even as he, with all the wrong assumptions in their head, had approached them. He was willing to bet that they had more courage than all the sniveling fools in their village had to offer.

“Why stay? I have nothing for you.” Aside from protection of course, but that was a given due to his nature.

Shocking him once more as their gaze reached his eyes, they spoke. “I have nowhere else to go. I came here willingly, knowing that I would never be accepted back in my village. If I return, I will be shunned and exiled for failing my task to please you.”

Something stirred within him once more at their words. “...I see.”

Interestingly, he had noticed that he had spoken more in this instance, in their company, than he had in many, many years. It was nice. Enjoyable even.

“Then you may stay.”

[bloodybosom]

Norman Saunders, The Devil's Mistress, 1961

[vexwerewolf]

If your religion prescribes death for certain crimes, that's human sacrifice. Sorry buddy, but entirely regardless of the secular ethics of capital punishment, a religious decree demanding the death of a person to balance moral scales is just a fancy way of demanding a human sacrifice.

[agentrouka-blog]

I find it infinitely fascinating that Dany - even outside a purely Targaryen context - follows the footsteps of her female ancestors and is married far too young, is pregnant with a prophecy baby, and would have likely died giving birth to a deformed stillborn half-dragon fetus. A disposable vessel for a flawed incarnation of war and conquest, given no room for her own desires, her own inherent worth.

And a healer saves her from this fate. She helps her survive the traumatic birth even though she is in conflict with Dany and her people, has been victimized by Dany and her people. Dany is allowed to escape the cycle of birthing a conqueror. Is allowed to escape the cycle of dying for men's ambition.

And then she turns that healer into a vessel for her weapon of war, burns her alive to birth herself a conqueror. Mirri screams in agony to give life to Dany's ambitions. The maternal sacrifice to Dany patriarchical consummation of her body and life.

Dany could have chosen a painful lesson and freedom. She chose to uphold the oppressive cycle, with herself at the top now. The half-human dead child fully replaced by reptiles that will kill for her within a year.

Mother, she calls herself.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I got kidnapped by a cult and were going to use me as a human sacrifice, but instead of chanting something creepy they chanted the lyrics to Big Lizard by The Dead Milkmen.

[grayrazor]

Eldritch cult takes over a major corporation. Refers to the Outer Gods as "The Shareholders." None of the old employees notice anything is any different.

[oriondrawsthings]

Terzo's Rebellion - Page 7 of 8

[editsulli]

Sacrifice

[komoriyui55lover]

Not my best work but yui komori again bcs she's amazing♡

[oldschoolfrp]

That old time religion -- Followers of Wakboth (the Devil, the Doom of the World) seek a return to the Great Darkness when Chaos reigned across Glorantha (Guillaume Sorel, Runequest supplement Les Dieux de Glorantha, Oriflam for Avalon Hill & Chaosium, 1987)

[oldmandoomer]

The Offering - ink. 2023

GBFA

[epitome-the-burnkid-viii]

[bloodybosom]

[cranky-kyrati]

Sacrifice

y'all i wrote a thing...

“You will be rewarded,” the King promises. His voice is softly resonant, soothing. He kisses the tears from her cheeks, and then tightens her bonds and brushes the last scraps of her dress off her body. “In this life, and the next.”

Tags: Rape/Non-con Elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Monsterfucking, Teratophilia, Ritual Sex, Human Sacrifice (sort of), Blood, Violence, Size Kink, Made-up Mythology

(honestly i have nfi how to tag this thing, it's violent eldritch dragon on human action okay)

~~~

Her name is Lamb, but it is also a word for Offering. The girl never considers its meaning until the day she is told she is to be a Sacrifice.

She is bathed and anointed, dressed in white and red, and then the King himself comes to take her out of the temple and into the centre of the forest, to the altar. The King in the golden mask, whom she has seen often throughout her short life, but never spoken to. And she never saw him without a mask before — she doesn’t think anyone has.

He takes it off when they arrive at the altar together. The girl has been weeping quietly all along the way, unable to enjoy the ride through autumn forest aglow with golden sunlight, her first time outside the temple since she was younger than she can remember. But now, she gazes up at the King, shaken out of her growing anxiety. His snow white hair had led her to expect an old man, yet his face is ageless and breathtakingly beautiful; serious, but not unkind. As he ties her to the altar and cuts her dress from her body she weeps again, not out of fear, but out of awe and wonder.

“You will be rewarded,” the King promises. His voice is softly resonant, soothing. “In this life, and the next.”

He kisses the tears from her cheeks, and then tightens her bonds and brushes the last scraps of her dress off her body. She lies bare before him and somehow she cannot think to be ashamed: the King unmasked holds a beauty so profound, so other-worldly, that she cannot think at all.

Thus it is that she doesn’t notice when he reaches into his clothing and exposes his cock; doesn’t look as he strokes it. She is lost in his golden eyes. It isn’t until he closes them with a faint grunt and something hot spills over her belly that she finally looks down — and sees him holding a body part she has only some academical knowledge of, soon tucked out of sight once more.

No longer spell-bound by his beauty, panic resurfaces in the girl. Her breathing hitches and races as the King reaches for his knife. She closes her eyes and cries out as he makes a quick, precise cut down the middle of her chest; not deep, just enough to draw a trickle of blood. She feels it sliding down her belly, pooling in her navel.

When she opens her eyes again, the King is holding a fruit of a kind she has never seen before. He slices it in half and lets its juices drip onto her skin, joining his spend and her blood. Then he leans in. Fingertips swirl the liquids cooling on her body, and for a moment it seems to her as though they catch on fire, a sigil searing her skin.

“This life, and the next,” the King repeats, his nostrils flaring as he sucks those mingled fluids from his fingers. The girl catches herself wondering if he is talking to her, or to himself. The way he looks at her in this moment makes her head spin: writ in his expression there is hunger and longing, greed and resentment, love and fury.

She might have asked him what it all means, but in the next moment his golden mask is back in place, and then the King is gone. And over the darkening forest, a half-moon is rising.

The Sacrifice is alone and afraid. She doesn’t know what is happening. She doesn’t know why she has been taken here, into the heart of the forest; why she has been stripped naked and tied to an altar. She doesn’t know what the sigil drawn on her skin means. But she knows, eventually, that she isn’t alone.

There is something in the forest.

She senses it watching her. Hears a great body shifting in the shadows. A wail of fear builds in her throat and she tries to swallow it, to be still and listen, but she can’t stop crying. Can’t stop shaping pleas with her lips, unvoiced, disappearing into the night.

The altar sits in a clearing, the ground flat and open all around and bathed in the light of the rising moon. The Sacrifice twists and arches her neck, looking frantically about, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. And a glimpse here and there is all she gets. Even as the creature leaves the cover of the trees, she cannot seem to make out what manner of beast is approaching: it flickers and fades into a shadowy mirage, almost invisible against the dark forest. The girl thinks she sees a long body like that of a serpent, but enormous, with four legs — or two, or six? — and talons tearing up clumps of grass as it slithers around the meadow, circling ever closer. Sometimes it disappears from view entirely, but she still hears it moving, staying low to the ground. It is hugging the altar now, she can sense it winding its body about the slab of stone. She twitches and yelps as she feels the scrape of a talon over her leg, a wet tongue touching her hand, then stillness.

The Sacrifice jerks her head around, straining against her bonds, straining her eyes, wondering if she imagined it all. And then her vision is obscured by darkness, and in that darkness a pair of malevolent green eyes, impossibly bright. She blinks tears from her own eyes and more details resolve out of the black — mane, muzzle, fangs — but they refuse to coalesce into a whole that makes sense.

This is a creature that doesn’t exist. A lion-headed serpent of shifting shadow whips its forked tongue at her, scenting the air. Then it tastes her skin, right above her heart where the King cut her. The girl is rigid, her teeth chattering, too frightened to even cry anymore. The creature hums, licks her again and again, its tongue shockingly hot as it laps at her chest and her belly. The King’s sigil disappears into its great maw and it makes a noise that could almost be a moan, its body heaving over her.

She still cannot perceive the whole of it, but as her eyes travels down its body she sees where fur is replaced with scales. She sees a seam down the centre of its underbelly splitting open as an organ grows out of it, and even in the dark she knows it for what it is—

And she shrieks and struggles feebly against her bonds as the serpent-thing crawls atop her, for she understands now what is about to happen. She is innocent of knowledge but on some deep, instinctual level, she understands . She understands why she was stripped of her clothes, why she was bent back over the rounded stone, why her legs were pried apart and tied open—

The serpent’s body is a furnace above her; she sees nothing but gleaming fur and scales. And then she feels it between her legs, its impossibly large cock nudging up against her—

And then she screams as it splits her in two.

The first release comes fast. He fucks her in a passionate fury, gouging the altar stone with his talons as his body bucks and heaves atop the girl. The girl, the little human girl, his Sacrifice . Crying underneath him, bleeding, writhing, pleading wordlessly in a language as old as time. And all it does is spur him on. He spends inside her with another growling moan.

Pulling out, he shifts his body out of the way, inspects the ruin of her. She is still alive. Still keening. He considers eating her. Her blood is so sweet: sweeter still now that she is his .

Instead he tears her from the altar, and carries her off into the forest. Away from the meadow, deeper and deeper into the forest, and then down, down into the winding tunnels of his den.

There, he curls up with his prize. She is a trembling, whimpering little thing, smelling of fear and blood and dripping with his release. He holds her in his talons, turning her over and around, inspecting her with all his senses. She sobs quietly and he drinks in her misery as he sniffs and licks — licks the tears from her face, the blood from the punctures he’s left on her body. He pushes his tongue into her mouth, tasting her spit, and she gags and squirms. He licks at her chest, her small breasts, her soft belly. He pulls her legs apart, nosing at her sex; she’s leaking blood and spend, soaking her little patch of fur. He laps it all up, invades her without a care for her comfort.

She is intoxicating. He wants more. He wants to devour her, but she is barely even a morsel, and there is a different kind of sustenance he craves, a different kind of relief. There is a hunger in him that hasn’t been satisfied for as long as he cares to remember. So he licks into her, purring, forcing more and more of his tongue inside, and then he pulls out and moves her around so he can thread her up on his cock instead.

She lets out a hoarse shriek; her pain washes over him in a delicious wave. He remains as he is, lazily lounging over his favourite boulder, and he moves her up and down his shaft, feeling the tight hot squeeze of her. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. He’d intended to draw it out, to make it last longer, but his patience evaporates in the flood of sensations, and anyway it doesn’t matter: he can go again, and again. As many times as he needs to to feel sated. So he tightens his talons around her body and slams her down on his cock, growling with pleasure as he spends inside her once again.

Then he puts her over the boulder on her belly, laps at her entrance greedily ... and then he mounts her like a beast. His body shortens and thickens, he hunches over her like a great cat, rutting furiously into her as she weeps.

He doesn’t count how many times he takes her, it is not his way. By the end of the night, he is satisfied to lie on his back, her unconscious form draped over his long body as his cock pumps in and out of her. A swollen ridge at its base stimulates her, makes her sex contract around him — he forces unto her pleasure she can’t feel, but he can. He draws it out of her and consumes it just as he consumes her pain, and in return he fills her up with his essence.

He could keep her. Or he could eat her. He could keep using her until he gets bored and then he could eat her. But for some reason, he doesn’t want to. There is something else he wants, now. The memory of a scent lingering on his tongue. Something complicated stirring at the back of his mind. He ignores it with practised ease, but still: he doesn’t eat her, and he doesn’t keep her.

Instead, just before dawn, he leaves his den with the girl cradled against his chest.

~~~

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