He didn’t know what woke him up first, his pounding head or the bright sunlight shining through his eyelids. Macbeth groaned, confused at the fistful of grass he ripped up from the ground in his clenched fist. He was supposed to be in the castle among the tattered tapestries and slowly regaining consciousness in the comfort of his own chaos. But somewhere off into the distance he could hear the soft chirping of birds, birds that would otherwise be deathly afraid of the beast in the dark castle.
Concern grew in his chest as he gently pushed himself up into a sitting position. Macbeth had transformed last night, that much he could confirm, but who put him outside– especially in such a compromising position? For now, luck was on his side and no passerby would be able to see him stark naked among the old oaks of the forest. Such luck was fleeting and he should have used it to its full potential, if he weren’t as weakened as he was.
❝Damn it all to hell! What temptress’ tongue led me to my doom, what foolish brain do I have in my skull? Hell only knows if one rattles around there.❞ he muttered to himself as his eyes scanned his surroundings for literally anything to cover himself with.
werewolf thing because we can never have too many threads || @valourtongued
