requiredwerewolf

Just like any Russian morning, it was cold out. Damn cold. Frost seemed to coat the few sun rays that touched the white landscape. Scrub poked out from the snow, yellowed bushes that seemed hardly worth the effort of trying to soak up what little light there was. That didn't stop the brown, muscular trunk from pulling at the scrub, ripping at the roots. Just as quickly the foliage disappeared into the creature's mouth, a perpetual smile hidden underneath its brown fur. It was early morning still, and the frost of last night was just starting to melt off the leaves. There wasn't a sound in the barren wasteland, only the rumblings of the grea

The First Trial of Eight, revealed in a dizzying rush of blood, in images that have been etched into her brain by a madman's crude scribbling. A voice whispers in her ear, his voice. "Slay the dragon." She was coerced into joining the Prophets, until the lies threatened her life. She lost her contact because the Conflict was over, the Conflict that ruined her home, "Tokyo." She ignored the madman's warnings as he lived, the monsters he created with charcoal on walls. Until he sketched her sister— and then it changed. Then she would have sold her lungs, her heart, her essence for the picture— Instead, she sold her mind, and con