Warmth
Posted: Tue Feb 03, 2009 12:16 pm
For the first time in months, I feel warm. Mostly, I feel it in my belly, but remnants of the heated slickness of the most recent mouthful linger down every inch of my throat. The moistness on my lips is already chilling once more in the frigid air, but another unthinking bite remedies that.
I don't know what possessed me to take the first bite. Hunger was a sensation I thoguht I would do without for the entirety of my new existence. I do not eat, I do not drink, I do not sleep, I do not age. I swallow the newest mouthful, barely chewed. I don't need to stop for air, but I don't think I would have if I did.
Why does it taste so good?
Dim memories spark in my mind. The sounds of combat, smells of rot and corrupted earth, and red... so much red. In the fabric, on the ground, on my blade, on my hands...
My teeth tear another bite away, and it vanishes down my throat. The meat stays settled in my stomach, but the warmth leaks free, pooling as it flows out of the holes left in my insides when I died. My skin and muscle keep it contained within me as it slides between what's left of my internal organs. Already, I feel the meal dissolving within me, the blackest magic animating me breaking it down as the heat spreads to my toes and fingertips. Another bite and it even reaches the tips of my ears.
The last time I felt anything close to alive was with my dear husband, but such exertions pale in comparison to this.
Red fills my memories once more, but the battle has broken for now, the crimson-clad defenders retreated to their walls, leaving their farmers to die. Farmers I helped to end. Farmers that I devour, the metallic taste of blood and the soft, wet texture of entrails filling my mouth as I restored myself and my wounds with their flesh.
A wave of shame hits me with the memory, and I find myself suddenly repulsed. The feeling is only in my mind, and I cling desperately to it to pull myself away from the body, the troll's half-eaten corpse steaming slightly in the icy air. I ball my hands in horror at myself even as my tongue licks the remaining blood from my lips. Try as I might, I cannot create the feeling of disgust I know I should have. I must still have. The shame is all that motivates me to walk away.
I take a handful of snow and wash the blood from my skin. For the first time since I've arrived in Northrend, it melts into water when it touches me. With a word I summon my charger from the nearest shadow and promptly climb into the saddle.
Try as I might to be a hero... I suppose at the end of the day, I'm still a monster.
I don't know what possessed me to take the first bite. Hunger was a sensation I thoguht I would do without for the entirety of my new existence. I do not eat, I do not drink, I do not sleep, I do not age. I swallow the newest mouthful, barely chewed. I don't need to stop for air, but I don't think I would have if I did.
Why does it taste so good?
Dim memories spark in my mind. The sounds of combat, smells of rot and corrupted earth, and red... so much red. In the fabric, on the ground, on my blade, on my hands...
My teeth tear another bite away, and it vanishes down my throat. The meat stays settled in my stomach, but the warmth leaks free, pooling as it flows out of the holes left in my insides when I died. My skin and muscle keep it contained within me as it slides between what's left of my internal organs. Already, I feel the meal dissolving within me, the blackest magic animating me breaking it down as the heat spreads to my toes and fingertips. Another bite and it even reaches the tips of my ears.
The last time I felt anything close to alive was with my dear husband, but such exertions pale in comparison to this.
Red fills my memories once more, but the battle has broken for now, the crimson-clad defenders retreated to their walls, leaving their farmers to die. Farmers I helped to end. Farmers that I devour, the metallic taste of blood and the soft, wet texture of entrails filling my mouth as I restored myself and my wounds with their flesh.
A wave of shame hits me with the memory, and I find myself suddenly repulsed. The feeling is only in my mind, and I cling desperately to it to pull myself away from the body, the troll's half-eaten corpse steaming slightly in the icy air. I ball my hands in horror at myself even as my tongue licks the remaining blood from my lips. Try as I might, I cannot create the feeling of disgust I know I should have. I must still have. The shame is all that motivates me to walk away.
I take a handful of snow and wash the blood from my skin. For the first time since I've arrived in Northrend, it melts into water when it touches me. With a word I summon my charger from the nearest shadow and promptly climb into the saddle.
Try as I might to be a hero... I suppose at the end of the day, I'm still a monster.