In the blackened marrow of night, I, a wolf unbound by mercy, scent upon you the shallow sweetness the world devours and the deeper, blood-warm truth it fears to taste. Your beauty glitters like bait to lesser beasts, yet it is the buried, trembling core of you—the fracture, the fire, the forbidden depth—that draws my fangs with reverence and ruin. Do not mistake my gaze, woman—I do not admire what you display; I hunger for what you hide, and I will linger until even your secrets learn to bleed.
And with that, I turn, a slow, deliberate grace in each step, the faintest semblance of a smile pulling at my blood-stained maw—not of joy, but of knowing. The night folds around me as I depart, yet I leave behind the echo of my gaze, a quiet ruin pressed into the marrow of your thoughts. Do not be deceived by the distance, woman—for I have not abandoned the hunt, only chosen the hour in which someone will feed me again.
Tony
