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missbunnybunny · 11 months

Text

-` 𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ´-

╔═.💌.════ 🫧🩻🫧 ═══════╗

🫧➣ 𝙷𝙸, 𝙸’𝚖 -`𝕭𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖞´-. 𝙸 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚢 『𝚋𝚞𝚗🩻』 &〘𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚢🫧〙.

𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝙳𝚞𝚋-𝚌𝚘𝚗, 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎,𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚘,𝚎𝚝𝚌.

𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝟷𝟾. !𝙽𝙾 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙴𝙳!

If what I write is not to your liking, please kindly move on. Don't leave hateful comments. Thank you.

𝙸 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝙽𝙾𝚃 encourage 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢, 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎.

➢𝕾𝖈𝖍𝖚𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖊: 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝!🫧

╚═══════ 🫧🪼🫧 ════🫧.═╝

-`『🩻+𝟭𝟴 🩻』´-

『』

-`🫧JJK🫧´-

『ﾟ

-`💌 『 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙥𝙚𝙩』🖊️´-

『𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘.』

』

« 𝕮𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝕺𝖋 𝕯𝖚𝖙𝖞 »

¡𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖊!

🫧『𝕺𝖍 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖊? 𝕬 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖞』🫧 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝟏

🎐-`ʚ『』✦✧✧𝕾𝖐𝖞 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑✧✧✦『』ɞ´-🎐 𝕻𝖖𝖗𝖙 𝟐

𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 + 𝕶𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 + 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖓... (𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢)

-`✧🕷️𝖂𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖜🕷️✧´-

!𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖊¡

『𝕳𝖎𝖉𝖊 & 𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖐 🗝️

𝕿𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖉𝖔 𝖚𝖘 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 🗝️

𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖆𝖒 𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 🗝️

𝕽𝖊𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖋𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖗 🗝️

𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖊🗝️

𝕸𝖞 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 🗝️』

-`🍰𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊: 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED 🍰💌🎀´-

『🫧𝕴'𝖒 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖓', 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓' ❣️💌💌

✧ 🖤 ✧. ▶︎ 𝕾𝖍𝖊’𝖘 𝖘𝖔 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊. 』 part 2 of I'm starvin', Darlin'

💌𝕾𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖉 🎀🫧

💌𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑 𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖘𝖊 💋🫧

🫧『･ﾟ✧💌🎪✧･ﾟ』 💌

-`🚩🚨🔥🧯𝖂𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖜 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖒𝖆𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 🚩🚨🔥🧯´-

¡𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖊¡

『𝖂𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖜 𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖜𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖜 🚨

𝕾𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖌𝖊𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖜 🚨

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖔𝖘 🚨

𝖀𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖑 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊 🚨

𝖂𝖍𝖞 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖜 𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 🚨

𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖉𝖔 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖜 🚨

𝕭𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖕𝖊𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖐 🚨

𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆 𝖓𝖊𝖜 𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖊 🚨

𝕴 𝖜𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖚𝖕 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖓𝖊𝖜 𝕭𝖚𝖌𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖎 🚨

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗 🚨

𝕼𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖞 𝖉𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖔𝖋 🕷️ 𝖔𝖓 𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐 🚨』

-`🕸️ 𝕬𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊 🕸´-

! 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖊 !

『𝕸𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝕷𝖔𝖔𝖐. 𝕬𝖙. 𝕸𝖊 🦇

💧𝕿𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑💧 ( 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝟐 𝖔𝖋 𝕸𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑. 𝕷𝖔𝖔𝖐. 𝕬𝖙. 𝕸𝖊)』

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕸𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝕺'𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 X 𝖄/𝖓 : 🦇" 𝕷𝖊𝖙 𝕸𝖊 𝕻𝖚𝖙 𝕸𝖞 𝕷𝖎𝖕𝖘 𝕿𝖔 𝕾𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 "🦇

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 12 days

Text

Chapter 1

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 3.3 k

Minors DNI - medieval fantasy au, ladyhawke inspired au, animal shifting (of a sort), angst and romance, YEARNING, swordfighting

Summary: For five years, Captain Jonathan Price has been traveling, banished to live his days under the sun alone, away from the woman he loves. He is on a quest for vengeance against Lord Shepherd for cursing him and his beloved to a life where they are always together, forever apart.

A self-indulgent Ladyhawke AU for my ship of John Price/Rory Sinclair (oc) and told from Price and Gaz's swapping POVs.

[Can also be read on AO3]

Five years.

Five long years.

Five long years. Alone.

Each day getting that much harder to watch pass. The break of day is a cruel mistress for him as the spark of burning sun that rises each morning means he is once again left to wander.

Jonathan Price knew no home any longer, held no loyalty except to one person, and as he travels each rocky road and dirt path between villages the sights have all become a blur, blending into one bland doldrum of gray. He can’t even appreciate the stars in the sky, nor the cool silver glow of the moon. There was just the sun, but with it came no light, not anymore. Days were one long expanse of reflecting on his memories of a better time, of the things he no longer got to have. Things so close, yet so far away. Just out of reach, like a figment in the corner of one’s vision, a mirage of an oasis he took for granted when he had it at his fingertips.

Pulling on the reins of his trusted Karachay, Nikolai, the horse’s dark mane blowing in the mid-morning breeze, Price takes long strides through the woodland green as his loyal companion follows, whinnying when the small lamb trotting along with them falls behind. It's wool coiled soft and white, eyes large and innocent, bleats its discontent as he moves quicker than little legs can carry.

Pausing his march, he turns to look over his shoulder and grumbles quietly to himself before calling out to the animal, “Now, now, my girl. None o’ that. I carried you for the last five miles.”

The shrill little cry of the miniscule creature back at him in opposition to his chiding was enough to make him smirk. “Is that so?” He lifts a brow and looks down at the hooved creature announcing its displeasure, a low chuckle coming from him. “Well, whatever the lady wants, eh?”

Scooping up the lamb into his arms, he places it in the saddle bag on the horse's back. It's little head pushing back the leather lid as it peers out at him, bleating once more, pink tongue flailing with its call. “You're gonna be trouble for me today, aren't you?” He teases, grasping the lamb’s slender black hoof in his hand before brushing his fingers gently through the wool on its head. “Just like you to be, darlin’.”

As easy as this moment seems to be, he finds himself overcome by a look of longing that furrows his brow and tightens his jaw. Carrying a loss with him that for so long he has tried his best to ignore, pretending as though it doesn’t weigh heavily on his heart with each passing moment.

“You just rest those li’l legs of yours, my girl.” His voice a husky whisper as he looks into the dark eyes of the innocent prey animal in his charge. “We'll stop for a meal soon enough.”

The journey seems to last forever, one heavy footstep placed in front of the other, and he can’t even blame it on his tiny escortee slowing their pace. Finally coming over a crest, he can see the sight of yet another village, worn down and left to obscurity as intended – his Lordship having resigned himself to letting all the villages outlying his city walls to fester, though that certainly didn't stop him from taxing them into sheer poverty.

Price grumbles to himself once more, a growl deep from within his throat. “Bloody Shepherd,” he husks, “Goddamn bastard.” Nikolai bristles in response, shaking his large head with a huff and blowing hot air from his nostrils, braying as Price shifts his dark cloak, the heat of the sun beginning to warm him. He scratches at the whiskers on his jaw, shifting the belt that holds his sword, and carries on towards the village walls.

In the center of the village lies a small marketplace, hardly bustling anymore. Farmers sell their goods – what little they can share. Butchers, bakers and candlestick makers all plying their trade. It’s a sad state of affairs as people barely scrape by with what meager existence they can find, but that still doesn’t stop the selfish from trying to take more for themselves. Thieves guilds and bandits circle these sorts of places like buzzards, picking clean the carcass of a dying community until there’s nothing left to steal. It turns Price’s stomach. He was raised with duty and honour, setting out with noble intentions when he took over his father’s place as the Captain of the city guard, wanting to prove himself to be the same kind of man – good and righteous – but, like Icarus, aiming for great heights… oh, how he fell. Failing to complete his most important task, failing her.

Nikolai’s hooves clomp through the muddy ground leading into the village square before Price ties him up to the nearest hitching post and stops to tuck the leather lid of the saddlebag over the lamb’s head once more. “You stay right there, be a good girl. Keep outta sight. Promise I’ll be right back for ya.” Patting the animal’s head with a gentleness that belies the gruff exterior of him, he closes the lid and strokes Nikolai’s mane. “Keep an eye out for her, Nik.” Feeling like a bloody madman as he talks to his animals, but alas, they’re all the companionship Price has these days. He wishes things were different, dreaming of another time when he had his friends, his brothers-in-arms, his beloved. But those were the old days, and these were the new, those were times he was never going to get back – he had learned to accept that fate, however begrudgingly. With what money he had, he headed to the market to get what provisions he could. Having learned to ration, to make it last, filling in with what he foraged and hunted in the forests along the way. He had always wanted the simple life, to provide for himself and a wife - this felt like a cruel perversion of that aspiration. As he finishes paying at one of the stalls, yelling draws his attention, along with the rest of those who mingle about, the few city guardsmen stationed there doing little to halt the ruckus. Price grunts, a low rumble in his throat, as he watches a man stalk off carrying a bag of coin. Steely eyes narrow at the sight, his hand coming to rest on the hilt of his longsword. Old instincts die hard. He can’t help himself, can’t leave well enough alone, even if it will draw attention. He’s never been one to let a threat get away with something if he can stop it. Well, in most cases…

Leaving his sack of goods at the stall, chasing after the thief, his cloak flutters around him and he feels like it's the good ol’ days again as the wind whips past his face. Muscular legs carrying him as fast as they will take him, the smoker’s lungs not doing him any favours (but a man has a right to enjoy his pipe). Ducking through doorways, darting past civilians, the heft of his mass keeps him barreling forward like the boulder hurled from a trebuchet.

Price is quick to find that the man is not alone in his endeavours to steal and claim what he has no lawful right to. There’s a pack of them. Wolves snarling, they claw and tear, preying upon those they deem to be weak. A glint sparks in his blue eyes, a breath of life that he hasn’t felt in years, an ember of the old fire that burns in him as he draws his sword from its sheath with a whisper of metal against leather. Tossing back his cloak, revealing dark leather armour with a coat of arms no one has seen in years, he fights through the men – striking with his pommel, slashing with his blade, chopping with the strength of a woodsman. An expert swordsman, his body and skills as honed and crafted as his weapon. The sweat that drips down his brow, and runs down the bridge of his nose, a testament to how hard he is willing to fight. Eight on one seemingly nothing to the man as he powers through them.

A crowd of onlookers form, citizens drawing a circle around the fight. Women and men, their eyes cast upon the first act of bravery they’ve seen in seemingly forever. Five years felt like a lifetime for everyone under the gilded foot of Lord Shepherd. Never had been much for spectacle, Price thinks. It was always just about getting the job done by whatever means necessary. There was only ever one pair of eyes he wanted on him, and he knew he’d never find them in this crowd, he’d never see those inviting hazel depths again.

Shouts of encouragement carry across the breeze, the citizenry reveling in the sight of bullies getting their just desserts – and then the city guard set upon him like a pack of wild dogs. They won’t act when it’s a criminal, but when it’s him? Well, he’s come to expect them to make more trouble. Orders from on high, soldiers just doing as they’re told… same as it ever was. He gruffs, mustache twitching as his lip curls in anger, his nose scrunching and nostrils flaring. Not planning to kill them unless they strike first, opting instead for a good defense rather than an offense. Muscles burning deep from the last fight, a fiery ache gnaws at his tendons, licking at the ligaments, but that won’t stop him taking on another.

As they strike at him as a horde, it’s easy to tell that the focus on footwork, on perfecting their craft as swordsmen has gone by the wayside since his time in the guard. The conditioning and practice pushed aside for stronger, more powerful weapons, but in the hands of those without polish they would never serve any real use. They are clumsy, easily taken off balance with a shove here, or a block there. It’s easier work than he had expected in the long run, Shepherd’s new Captain was clearly more focused on style over substance. A damn shame, he thinks to himself. He lunges, jutting his weapon forward, knocking the sword out of one guardsman’s hand, before thrusting the pommel backwards into a man looking to attack him from behind. Tossing grown men aside as if they weigh nothing more than bags of grain, Price cleaves his way through the guards’ numbers. Striking. Slashing. Beating them back. The whistle of his sword through the air gives way to screams of pain as wounds are slit through to the soft flesh below. The wounded crawling away from an enemy they have no business dueling. They didn’t stand a chance. However, one guardsman stands out from the pack. Price’s battle-hardened glare following each precise placement of the younger man’s feet. It’s harder to telegraph his motions compared to the others he’s fought. A worthy opponent. Their swords clash, metal upon metal ringing out as they cross. While the younger guardsmen may be fleet of foot, Price has size and experience on his side. Able to overcome and overwhelm by sheer force, he charges at the guardsman, but he is abruptly parried.

“Wait!” The clangour of steel reverberates through both swords with a rattle, and Price’s cold blue eyes pierce sharper than the blade ever could as he glares over the edge of his weapon at the younger man. Warm brown eyes meeting him on the other side, their arms both shaking with the force of their match. His brow furrows as he leans in using his bulk against the younger guard’s lean muscle. “What am I waitin’ for exactly?” Price’s voice is a dangerous rasp, his mettle being tested in the arena of battle. “Your armour…” The younger soldier’s eyes widen at the sight of the coat of arms on Price’s chest. Jaw clenching, his teeth grit together as he shoves the younger soldier backwards with enough force to have him landing on the ground. “You’re old guard,” the younger man whispers as if he’s meeting a personal hero and Price flinches at the prospect. “The law says we’re supposed to strike you down on sight.” Laying his sword down on the ground, he submits. “But I won’t.”

Grunting, Price holds his sword out against the young man in case he gets any ideas. “Law’s funny that way..” “I’m not going to stop you, but you need to go, the others won’t back down, especially since you’ve drawn blood.” Price studies the younger man for a moment, appraising his trustworthiness, and then slips his sword back into its sheath before retreating away towards the marketplace for his goods and then the hitching post where Nikolai is tied and waiting.

He’s quick to loosen the reins, freeing his horse before drawing his sword once more and holding it out towards the footsteps he hears crunching up behind him. The tip of the blade points at the throat of the younger guardsman who stands there, his hands lifted in surrender. “Thought you were lettin’ me go?” Price rumbles.

“I am, but most folk don’t go around wearing old guard uniforms, especially not out in the open like that. You tryin’ to get yourself killed?” “I’m not a coward. I’m not takin’ off my armour just because the Lord’s gone and made his own rules up.”

The young man’s eyes lock on the old crest, his brow furrowing, mouth drawn in a straight line. “You know, things used to be good here, people prospered. And then, a few years back, all of it went to hell. The rise of the new Lord, rules changed, the guard stopped fighting for what was right. There used to be a time where there was law and order, where we protected people. Now…” the younger soldier’s words trail off. “Now we’re bloody useless.” “And?” Price says curtly. “That’s the Captain’s patch on your leather –” “That was a long time ago.”

“What happened?” Price tips his head to the side. “Times change, don’t they?” His lip curls into a sneer. “New powers that be. People who were once allies become enemies, or they disappear.” “Sgt. Garrick, sir,” the young man says, giving him a polite bow of the head as if Price still had any power at all. “If you’re who I think you are, then it's about damn time things go back to what they once were.” Nodding, Price replaces his sword back into its sheath before jumping up onto the stirrup throwing his leg over the back of his horse, Nikolai ready to run at a moment’s notice. “That’s the plan.” “You’ll need assistance then.”

His brow lifts as he looks Garrick up and down appraisingly once more. “S’pose I will. You ride?” “Horses are in the stables, don’t have time to get one.”

“Fine. Hop on,” he says gruffly, “Mind the bags.” Garrick climbs onto the back of Nikolai, his leg bumping the saddle bag, and the little lamb’s head pokes out, bleating once more. He looks down at the sheep and cocks a brow. “You keep some odd company, Captain.”

Price smirks and knocks his heels into the horse's sides, cracking the reins and the group ride off.

Dusk begins to settle, the sun fading through the shivering oak leaves that rustle in the wind. Striations of coral and tangerine blend like watercolors in the sky, dripping into one another as the trees darken into silhouette in the foreground. The last calls of the birds are a witness to the coming night and Price’s hackles begin to rise. He’s on edge, a common occurrence the closer the moon comes to rising. He needs a place to settle, to rest. Travel can wait once more for the harsh light of the sun.

“We’ll make camp,” he says off-handedly, over his shoulder to his newest companion, the first one who can actually answer back in years.

Pulling on the reins, he slows Nikolai’s gallop to a saunter as they look for a clearing, and through a thicket of trees, an old serfdom farm comes into view. In the falling darkness it’s hard to tell whether the farm is in a worthwhile state or whether it's worn to nothing but rotted wood. There’s little else around for shelter and the prickle of his nerves down his spine and his clenching knuckles tell Price there’s no point in looking further, time won’t wait any longer for him. The closer they get it's easy to see that the roofs of every structure have caved inwards from the deluge of rain received in the winter, shingles crumbling, walls splintered and bowing under the pressure of standing stable without any upkeep. They’ll make do for one night, carrying on in the morning. Tying Nikolai to the nearest sturdy oak tree, Price unloads the pan and pot for cooking, ordering Garrick to go collect the firewood.

Alone at camp, he unloads the final saddle bag, pulling the tiny lamb from inside it and cradling it in his strong arms. A calloused finger caresses the underside of the animal’s chin as large eyes stare up at him. Heart squeezing in his chest, his brow furrows as he looks down at the little being in his arms, so totally reliant on him. He wishes he was deserving of the trust she gives him – he knows he’s not.

Carrying his most prized possession over to the barn, Price places the wooly creature down on the cloak he has draped on the hay for her. A large hand that covers nearly the entire head of the lamb strokes softly, his thumb drifting upwards along the snout against the soft wool between dark mirror-like eyes. “Rest well, my girl,” he whispers in a husk. His armour sits tight on him as muscles begin to expand and shift with the coming night. As the first stars begin to twinkle, his chest swells and his back wants to hunch. He hates this in-between stage, where he can feel himself slipping away, losing himself to an instinct that isn’t even his own. Everything that makes the man falls by the wayside as the silver light of moonglow threatens to overwhelm the dying sun. Stripping himself of his last vestiges of clothing, folding them neatly, handling them with the pride and respect they deserved, he packs them away. Left bare, the chill of the night settling into the scars on his skin and the patches of hair that start to sprout from him, he looks over at the little lamb resting curled up. He sighs, knowing the time will come where once more he’ll have only a fleeting moment with her. A sight for sore eyes that lasts for a fraction of a second before they are once more separated. It never gets any easier, a constant burden that follows him – Always together, forever apart.

The sun finally dips down, darkness blanketing the world, crickets beginning to chirp as the quiet of night takes the helm. Before him, as he reaches out his hand, watching it transform into a massive paw with black sickle-like claws, stands the woman he’s been aching for every day for the last five years. Unable to touch her, his heart pounds in his chest and he could nearly weep at the sight of her beauty. It’s his fault they’re trapped like this, he’s done this to her, and he could scream at the curse that hangs over their head like the executioner’s axe. She’s his whole reason for living and this is what they’ve been reduced to: a yearning that can never be ended, a lifetime of heartbreak, a loss worse than death. But the pain relieves itself, because in the blink of an eye, he is no longer a man.

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