↕ for the memory.
↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened
The memory is fuzzy now, lost to the ages. Perhaps it rests in her books somewhere, but this is all she recalls.
Savage clawmarks, and the prettiest maroon ribbons of blood she’s ever had on her before. Feral grayish eyes, green and somehow too intelligent for the beast they belong to. She’s smaller and scared. It must be her first time out among the people?
She has no idea what to do.
The Demoness remembers how it feels to have your heart stop, or your throat crushed. She remembers it being agony, even if it wouldn’t be called such now.
Details get horribly blurred after that. A blast of light that’s far too bright for anything usual, a flash of violet.
A voice telling her stupid peasants should stay in their homes. Gratitude.
She isn’t sure if it was her, or if she had simply watched this and lived vicariously, but the Huntsman, Orphaner, his face certainly blanched when she visited him.
