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A QUEEN WHO IS FEARED BY HER SUBJECTS IS NOT A QUEEN AT ALL,
BUT A TYRANT.
A mass of destruction came barreling down the terrain, covered in blood from the appendages up, it had not phased her the slightest bit -- wearing someone else's tainted embrace gave her a rush of adrenaline and that murderous background that she portrayed so exclusively. Like a wave of sanctification, relief fell over her, laughing silently to herself at the very thought of escaping what was yet another blood-shed revenge - against an organism who deserved it's fate. The fresh residue of crimson substance trickling down her open chambers, sharp canines that reflected the suns rays glistened an eerie tint. The mighty temptress, designed with a valley of muscles, ones that over-lapped one another to create colossal fragments of masculine bridges, moved her way across the endless carnival of twisted landscapes. It could never get any better than where she was at now, drinking down the metallic saliva that was ones blood. Pure tranquility. Despite the fact that she's committed some sinister crimes, slaughtering her parents, disowning her siblings, mauling and beheading the ones who break her trust. She's an angel, but she's a savage executioner just looking for love in a cold, cruel world.
Medusa took her time down a plateau, her enormous black and white frame rippling with each step the silver goddess took. Retinas that held death in every awakening hour, scanned the area around her, their deep steel glowing entrancement basking in the glory of a moorland that stretches for miles in front of her. As if she could hear the cries of rage and pain in the distance, the repeating blows of masculine's and feminines combined creating a melody in her alerted auricles. Stimulating her senses, she gathers in lingering scents that orbit her being. Paws that were dipped in a river of blood left faint trails behind her, though she dared not erase their prints. The only thing on her mind was food, she needed something to sate her hunger, then again, the pool of blood surely did ravish some of that lust.
At least what seemed to be five minutes later, the bristling pitter-patter of a paws came into ear shot. Medusa was on edge, with an already rattles mindset of her siblings hot on her tail she instantly bolts towards the threshold of a forest. Her fur begins to bristle, climbing up her spine and around her shoulders, along the upper neck stuck out like a porcupine -- making her look ten times her already colossal stature. If you looked close enough you could see the vast changing of her eyes, the alabaster orb filtered a blood-shot red while the other sparkled an even darker shade of blue - she was in a crisis of losing her mind. But, like any crazed wolf who has a bounty over there head, she entered onto a domain that surely wasn't hers to claim. Without turning back Medusa slowed her gait upon approaching a river that flowed down hill at a rapid pace. Slowly, yet surely she'd move through the waves, watching the trees around her as a storm brewed above her dome. She was in no mood for sneak attacks, in no mood to end yet another life. While she crossed the river to the other side the red paint that was woven through her coat began to melt, whisked away by the current and down stream turning the water into a pool of blood.
Once she had reached the other side, Medusa was in the middle of shaking herself off when a silhouette caught her eye. About the time she snatched her crown up, her entire being was being forced to the ground and in a sudden burst of energy the damsel swung her right paw up while her body lifted itself against the weight of another wolf, her claws coming in direct contact with the wolf's fact and knocking them to the side; in the process her claws torn through layers of flesh and out with it came Medusa's souvenir - the wolf's right eye. In the heat of a battle, the gladiator went to finish her victim who lied on the earth yowling in pain with its paws over its bloody face, but before she could deliver her next blow two more bodies crashed into her side, pinning her to the ground. She fought to move, knocking one wolf off just to have yet another taking its place. She was enraged, her own fangs coming only inches from the one who had her pinned, the wolf on top went to strike at Medusa's thorax but was shook by a thunderous roar.
Medusa's head snaps to the left, watching the moving specimen, one that could be identified as a male. He was large, handsome and some how caught her attention. The wolf who had her pinned quickly sank away with his ears back and tail between his legs, this amused Medusa because she never saw another male become frightful of another male. It was just simply amusing in her eyes. The masculine who had ended the fight had a voice like a God, so strong and alluring, even arousing - almost. The aroma he allowed to seep from his bodice was not as nearly overwhelming as the tidings that fell from his venomous tongue - laced in poison. Everyone in submission, besides Medusa who rose to her foundations and shook her pelt from any debris that could shroud her beauty.
There was no words, not even a hum that could measure up to his muse as he once again spoke. This time he asked for her name, and with a sly smirk she drew her head up high and preached her alias - loud enough above the yowls of pain coming from the male lying on the ground. But careful not to allow her full name out, she didn't want anyone, not even the dead to know that her actual name was Telemachus. The names Medusa.. Medusa Hellstrom.
Speech, 'thoughts', other's speech
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