Love Is Just A Bloodsport…

How fast can you run when it is merely your mind you run from? The avid eyes of harpies are diligent to say the least… The myriad of hues that makes up the world, sullen in its sophistication. Strange the rhythm that seems to haunt every chamber and vessel, clamoring for attention not readily given. The maddening rush seems all encompassing. It always burns like fire.

Who would bespell the damned? Fierce in competition, the razor teeth were sharper than those of the sanguine predators. Like scalpels of the damned, wolfteeth gleamed with a ferocity to scare even the eldest of bloods. Infuriating as it was, they couldn’t help but shove their hands directly into the mouth of the beast. The screams were predictable and though the rest heard them in the end there was no hope as more in the line continued to step up, lambs to the slaughter, all prepared to have their hands and arms rendered to shreds of what was once limb.