PreyOnTheWeak

Pulled apart, stitched back together. Different, wrong.

The bloodstained bandages covered wounds which did not heal, dewdrops of fresh blood weeping through soiled fabric.

New flesh connected to old, given serpentine grace, and a lion's visage.

Fools, they were.

To give a broken creature claws and teeth, thinking they would not feel their bite.

A spark of kindness sparked their downfall. They'd released it from its chains, allowed to feel the kiss of cold night air.

The beast would not allow it to be taken from him. Their screams shattered that blissful calm.

While vengeance was sweet. Killing was sweeter.

With claws wet and sated, he turned from the light of the moon and fled into the dark.


Some say he still wanders the night, leaving trails of blood in his wake.

It's impossible to tell whether it is the blood of others

Or his own.