Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20191120203148/@comment-30014014-20191201231008

@Hound

The hanged dead, loosened from their metal nooses, all converge on Host Prad. Hate. Malice. Vindiction. All driving their phantoms claws to the man who spook intendent on having Prad suffer their scratches.

And then, silence. Frozen time counting on stars. The man who possessed his body...

...the clawing dead to his flesh...

...the wails...

...the screams...

...all frozen in time.

Whispers again, much more...forgiving, to her side. Another pair of hands, gleaming in orange, converge to her wail. Their touch burns the dead's claws from her body, shaping, forming a ring of consecrated ground around the anguished werewolf.

The whispers come closer, ever gentle, looking to ask a simple question in many voices [You seem sad...]

[Is it because you love him?]

[Because you love him?]

[Love him?]

[Do you love him?]

[Do you?]