The predator is patient

[Guppy]

The creature did not think there was a word for Its current desire for savagery. It had been around long enough to understand that passionate fury was an emotion best served in the hands of the young. It made one careless and it was a tool another could manipulate. The whelp would be well-served by a bit of smoldering anger, but instead she was beside herself with grief over what the boy had done. The boy who stood upon a pedestal, who could do no wrong. Noura felt the twisted knife in Niall's gut as sharply as if it had been her own skin pierced, her own blood seeping from her frame to stain the ground. That was far worse. It remembered with distaste the sobs wracking the woman's body as her heroes crumbled, one by one. The boy shining brightly imagined covered in runed girl blood with that same earnest expression. Because it was Right and Just and True. The whelp was Defeated. The agony had made her drift inward. Ducked under her mother-demon's skirts to hide.

It was disgusting, but then the creature knew of the emotional limitations of her frame. It was a necessity. Planned and crafted for greatest benefit. The spirit had taken great pains to drift until she had found the perfect host. That night, It had allowed the girl to slumber while It had molded the young woman into perfection. There were small, lingering things that the creature had not accounted for, those many nights past, but they were manageable. Sometimes, It even found Itself amused by them. The young woman she held in her thrall was a far cry from the broken waif choking on her own blood It had discovered on that fire-soaked night.

It had not seen the whelp as close to the edge since then. Until tonight, when the Lady Olwak's Burnie's? manipulation came to fruition and the Knight's righteous anger left Niall abed in the Remedium.

The demon was not blind to the overwhelming amounts of support the Lady had gathered. She had an army of brainless minions, peons that trailed in her wake. An army of complacent sheep clad in finery. They had once been strong. Had once clawed their way out of despair or were content to slumber within its embrace. They were hard and they were terrible. They were perfect as they were. Now, they were pale, smiling shadows. Detritus.

It was alone, for all the company the whelp shared. It suspected there might be an ally within Giuseppe, the dark one clad in white. He rolled on his belly so nicely for the Lady that he was a bit of a precarious partner at best. Certainly that was the kind of risk that the creature relished, but it was never prudent to implicitly trust one who drifted in allegiance like the current of a tempestuous sea. Say what you would about the spirit, but it was infrequent in shifting affinity. It was a creature of loyalty, however dark the depths of its soul. Niall. Whelp. Giuseppe, to a much more cautious extent. Gloria was a convenient friend in the moment, until things settled. The girl was like a buzzing fly, but perhaps It could harness that irritation. Send her at the Lady as fodder. It would have no trouble stepping over her prone form to strike when most convenient. Perhaps not. That loss might very well fracture the whelp for good.

It was not concerned with the lack of support. The numbers did not matter. To kill a snake, one only had to separate the head from the body. The creature allowed amusement to flicker across It's countenance at the thought of gutting the Lady in the middle of tea. Crimson splashed over fine china teacups. The creature sipping tea in the blood-marred cup with pinky extended. Sweet revenge. It ached for the wanting. The Lady would surely pay for her trespasses.

Elliot, though. He was different. No longer himself. Whelp could catch snatches of familiarity within the boy's eyes and his mannerisms. The way he spoke. She was blinded by the shine of his smiles, the warmth of his skin. Chasing the carrot he represented. Rhaena had no intention of sullying her shining Knight on the likes of the whelp, but the girl could not see that. The boy who held such promise, the boy who the creature could envision setting the world he knew on its ear, the boy who was potential personified - he was a lapdog. Ruined. Extinguished. He was learning to dance, to use appropriate forks, to polish armor. Detritus. He had shown the extent of his fall with the attack on Niall. He would destroy whomever was in Her path without hesitation. Destroy all of the necessary darkness until only sickly-Light remained. When they had all fallen, would they find it as lovely as they imagined? Or would they be be able to see the destruction they wrought with their ill intentions? Would Elliot finally See what he had done?

His action against Niall would not be tolerated. Niall was important, cherished. It made no promises to the scarred young woman, but she would stay her hand. The predator was patient. Unwavering in Its pursuit. Elliot was a simpleton and not worth Its time. Rhaena was the true prey and she would make a fine meal. The creature would rip her entire world apart. The husband. Perhaps he was the key. He had been noticed at the gala. The anger written upon his face was clear, their argument disappearing into privacy quickly. Then, he was gone and she stood in power. Perhaps It could locate him, tug at the strings of tentative friendship It shared with Giuseppe. Discover if he was whom he pretended to be.

It peered around at the circle of magic seeping from Its form while the girl slumbered. It sat within Its perfect circle of entropy deep within the confines of the forest. Hidden from watchful eyes. Trees withered, cracked, shuddered, and died. Collapsed into themselves in piles of dust and decay. Grass dessicated, flattened until there was nothing but blighted dirt. The evidence, the backlash of the spirit's wrath. These events were unplanned. Things were not working out how the demon had envisioned. But, It was nothing but patient. It would lay in wait until it could pounce. Rhaena did not understand what she had unleashed. The predator is patient. The creature smiled to itself, the expression far colder than it should have been.