The Beautiful Monster

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"Those who abstain from blood have never tasted its richness."

They send me away to find them a fortune
A chest filled with diamonds and gold
The house was awake
With shadows and monsters
The hallways they echoed and groaned

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No dragon is to drink the blood of another. It is a law as old the Earthshaker, one near every dragon on Sornieth is in practice of, for most have beware of the stories that their elders tell. Stories of those that hide in darkness, their fangs glittering with a powerfully dark magic of its own.
It is a magic only those unwillingly to listen to these stories find of. A surge of strength, of speed and power. But it fades oh so quickly, and no other blood may quench the thirst that follows these monsters. Only that the magic metallic trickle of another dragon's life can sate the new being that is created the day they take that first drink.
The beast created is not so fondly regarded in most circles, as the thirst drives the sick to unreachable madness, and the only one more terrifying then these monsters are the ones that try and control them. Those that fail often become the cause of droves of murders of nearby innocents. By that's nothing compared to those that succeed in this dark task. Few have in the past, most notably the sirens of ages past.
These creatures, the wendigo, were followers of the sirens. The singers regarded the cannibals fondly as pets. Throwing them spoils from the top of the world, and sicking them like dogs on the weak and helpless as well as those that dared stand before them. Securing a regime of nothing but terror and bloodshed. The murders a pastime as fun as any other sport.

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The Beautiful Monster
They say that those abstain their life away
Will never fear that hell may pay
Because when the wicked blessed
Their true desires their heart never confess.

Those that abstain from blood have never tasted its richness.
The metallic tingle and taste does sate,
The monsters’ bottomless hunger.
Even if it’s by a village plunder.

The taboo broken and a seal bared
A magic transformation,
With not but cursed fairy dust
To be their consultation.

From flesh and blood of a mortal will rise,
A beast both heinous and beautiful.
Bones will shift and shatter
Lost are her cries and all that matter.

Like that she soon found
Why the stories they crowned,
The blood thirsty the worst of the lot.

But like all magic,
Its power is corrupting at best.
For she quickly uncovered
Her new claws made one hell of a mess.

With a single swipe of her paw,
The blood forth did draw.
In a glorious arc of rust red.

A beautiful monster,
Who had a rhythm in her carnage reeking steps.
She may smell of decay,
But she’ll dance it away,
That beautiful monster of mine.

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