It hadn’t been enough, had it? It was hard to tell for that creeping fog was still felt to linger at the edges of a mind. That aggression - a wolf’s ferality far from vanquished as it snarled relentlessly in his ears. An unending echo though this poison granted some small reprieve. Temporary submission that left one room to think, to wonder and hope that this twas not some cruel trick. Deep within there was trust that the herbalist had spoken true but with it came doubt. Had it all been a lie? Surely it was not meant to be this way. Surely the beast’s reigns were to be held much more tightly.
This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. But it grew ever harder to focus, to dwell upon the wrongs as a body fought so violently to reject all that lay consumed.
Blood and bile painted the floor. Wolven chest heaving in desperation to gain decent breath between each fit where nothing more lay able to fall from slackened jaws discolored by remnants of that bitter tincture. One which tinted saliva in purplish hue as strands dripped freely from teeth and lolling tongue. Just how much of it had been absorbed? How much coursed through the hound’s veins before a moon could seize hold? Answers the goat did not hold but he could not ignore the near electric sensation that traced over skin, a persistent tingle that one could not shake as it collected upon the touch of forced expulsion.
August could only pray the dawn came quickly, that this was merely something to ride out until the morning light. But so long as this stole away the gnawing dread of a wolf, the terror of possibilities, it would all be worth. Though already did he hold regret. The usual excuses had not fallen from his tongue, work had not stolen him away - perhaps upon the vain hope that this would have worked better. That a mind would be wholly his own rather than still facing the razor’s edge. All he’d asked was that she remain in her room. Claims of unease issued from his tongue though could give her no reasons as to why.
He should have forged some lie. Made an excuse in hopes of convincing her not to stray despite having free roam of the estate any other night. He should have requested that Ajax take her away from this place. Bring her to the cathedral, to the safety of another’s home, bring her anywhere but here. Tell her he was sick, that it was all for the best. Tell her something, anything she may believe so long as she did not risk an encounter with a monster. For that is what he was, there was no other description proper for one who could not control their own mind.
And yet the hound could not find solace in what should have been said. He knew her to linger within these walls and one could only pray she did not wake. That the scrapping of claws against the tile did not shriek too loudly whenever fingers curled, that the air around her room would not be tainted by wolvish whines as that overwhelming discomfort surged anew. ‘Just stay in your room.’ A plea she would never hear aloud as it echoed on repeat in his thoughts.
This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. But it grew ever harder to focus, to dwell upon the wrongs as a body fought so violently to reject all that lay consumed.
Blood and bile painted the floor. Wolven chest heaving in desperation to gain decent breath between each fit where nothing more lay able to fall from slackened jaws discolored by remnants of that bitter tincture. One which tinted saliva in purplish hue as strands dripped freely from teeth and lolling tongue. Just how much of it had been absorbed? How much coursed through the hound’s veins before a moon could seize hold? Answers the goat did not hold but he could not ignore the near electric sensation that traced over skin, a persistent tingle that one could not shake as it collected upon the touch of forced expulsion.
August could only pray the dawn came quickly, that this was merely something to ride out until the morning light. But so long as this stole away the gnawing dread of a wolf, the terror of possibilities, it would all be worth. Though already did he hold regret. The usual excuses had not fallen from his tongue, work had not stolen him away - perhaps upon the vain hope that this would have worked better. That a mind would be wholly his own rather than still facing the razor’s edge. All he’d asked was that she remain in her room. Claims of unease issued from his tongue though could give her no reasons as to why.
He should have forged some lie. Made an excuse in hopes of convincing her not to stray despite having free roam of the estate any other night. He should have requested that Ajax take her away from this place. Bring her to the cathedral, to the safety of another’s home, bring her anywhere but here. Tell her he was sick, that it was all for the best. Tell her something, anything she may believe so long as she did not risk an encounter with a monster. For that is what he was, there was no other description proper for one who could not control their own mind.
And yet the hound could not find solace in what should have been said. He knew her to linger within these walls and one could only pray she did not wake. That the scrapping of claws against the tile did not shriek too loudly whenever fingers curled, that the air around her room would not be tainted by wolvish whines as that overwhelming discomfort surged anew. ‘Just stay in your room.’ A plea she would never hear aloud as it echoed on repeat in his thoughts.
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i'll add a table later 8|
note; took partial dosage of wolfsbane, wereboofer body obviously doesn't like bein poisoned
symptoms: nausea/vomiting, weakened pulse, labored breathing, numbness + tingling of tongue/mouth