It's been a while since I did a "fuck it" story. I've been so hellbent on canonizing everything that I haven't really been able to unwind from that world and just have a little excursion. Well, I did. Aaaaaand . . .
Here's a raw preview in the works.
I'm not apologizing.
One could have mistaken Samael’s snoring for incoming thunder, dozing as she was with 14 beer bottles surrounding her black leather recliner, her finished vices like hollow little inebriation soldiers. She was in a wife-beater and boy shorts, a sliver of drool down her cheek, her hand on her crotch. This was a common sleeping position for her, and she herself wasn
The walls were made of corroded stone, a metallic shade of gray tinted blue, heavily chipped and covered with white spots where it looked as if graffiti had been scratched away. The floors were covered in a fine layer of almond colored dust that rose into my nostrils as I walked, and there were holes every few steps, some too small to notice, others large enough so that I could have twisted my ankle had I mistepped. In the corners, there were all manners of refuse, from rocks to occasional pieces of bark and twigs, each having expertly avoided being swept, and now so far out of reach in a place so dirty they would likely remain there for the
Call of Night (Werewolf Poem) by DrakoWolfborn, literature
Literature
Call of Night (Werewolf Poem)
I've seen a million stars pass right by,
I know the moon shines down on me bright.
This is what keeps me from my partial human tie,
And all that I allow myself to accept is the call of night.
There is no savagery or bloodshed,
So many false tales are made up about my tale.
It can be hard as a traveler to rest your head,
So now I'm the only one in my pail.
I've seen a thousand people walk right by,
Yet not a single one wants my foresight.
This is what keeps me from my partial human tie,
And all that I allow myself to accept is the call of night.
There is no hatred or love for me,
No one understands that I don't understand.
The last part of