Well, right now, it's about 11:54pm, and I'm sitting at my laptop typing this. I don't know why, but I'm in a very solemn, stressed, and somewhat anxiey mood. I just re-read the 1st edition of the graphic novel "The BlackBlood Alliance" (for what seems like the hundredth time), and with my current mood, I just started to type, and this is what the result was. I don't think I've ever written something like this before. I don't know why I wrote it: I just did. So enjoy or don't enjoy, whatever you choose.
One Hundred Years
It was all her fault.
The black wolf bowed her head, tears mixed with blood streaming down her face. This is not what it should be. This should never have happened. The blue glow in her eyes began to soften, revealing her pupils and the blue-green of her eyes.
Blood flowed from her multiple wounds, from her shredded ears and her torn flesh, from her bloody limbs and her destroyed tail. But she did not feel the pain of them. Her emotional trauma had dissipated the physical hurt and left it obsolete. The many mangled bodies of the sabre-toothed tigers that had surrounded her during her madness blanketed the ground, their blood staining the snow a dark pink.
But she did not care about those bodies, only about the grey form in front of her. The wolf lowered her head, nuzzling the neck of the form. She breathed in deeply, burying her nose into the matted silver fur of her dead mate, taking in his scent.
She cursed herself. He had been protecting her, and he had died for it. If she hadn't fallen into the trap and broken her leg those weeks ago, they could have run and escaped alive. But she was weak, and the sabres had caught them and surrounded them, tearing into his silver fur and his pink flesh with their horrible claws and long fangs.
Even though he only had one eye, he was able to fend wave after wave of the beasts, and she too had fought, although without her normal strength and agility. Yet they had been overcome, and a large black sabre had leapt onto his back and sunk his fangs into his skull.
The silver wolf had collapsed into a heap with a howl, his blood flowing around his body and spreading like a pool of water into the snow. The she-wolf had screamed for him, but the life disappeared quickly from his brown eye. The brown lines around his eyes had faded, proving that he truly was dead.
That is when the madness had come. The she-wolf did not remember much; just the overwhelming pain and anger of his loss filling her veins, and the taste of much tiger blood on her lips. The 'fury' as her people once called it, had overwhelmed her.
She had the need to kill.
Tear their skin.
Rip their limbs apart.
Break their bones.
Make them suffer.
Now, the bodies of the tigers lay around her, mangled. Their final cries for mercy were still plastered on their ugly faces.
She licked the scar on her dead mate that had been a constant reminder of how he had lost his eye. Her blood and tears mingled with his own as she cried openly, repeating his name over and over, as if he would wake from her calls.
She closed her eyes, which were blurred from the blood and tears and the pounding in her brain. Why? Why had this happened? This was not the way it was supposed to be. It should not end like this.
And it was all her fault.
It had been one hundred years after the final battle between the BlackBlood wolves and the clan of sabres known as StoneClaw.
One hundred years since the BlackBloods, lead by the great Swiftkill, had been victorious.
One hundred years after the first BlackBloods had left Inaria in search of their own homes.
One hundred years later, the last of the true BlackBlood line lifted her head to the heavens and howled her pain and misery, shaking the earth.
Thank you for reading, hoped you enjoyed the sleep-deprived babblings of my brain.
The wonderful graphic novel "The BlackBlood Alliance" is copyrighted to the talented Kay Fedewa and her equally talented partner E. Siegel.
The rest is mine. :D