Man with the Silver Eyes

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I can feel the beginning of my hunger tearing at me from the inside. But I'd just eaten two hours ago. Usually that would last me half a day.

But now it's here, again. It's getting worse.

Was it because of Mistress?

The soles of my boots dig deeper into the dirt of the Arena. I look once towards the Palace kitchen, dark and empty. My hands tighten around the clothed hilt of my sword, the material from her dress all faded with my touch.

I falter at the thought of forcing down the raw,
bloodstained meat of deer again. I can already feel the taste of it on my tongue, and I am sick of it. But the hunger grows, a hotter flame.

In the back of my mind, I see her. The sweat covering a flood down my back and the dust covering my callused hands slowly dissipates as I run my eyes down her figure. She becomes clearer by the second.

I thirst for her. I want to kiss her feline lips and close my hand around her delicate waist.

Don't you fucking dare, Kim Taehyung.

My eyes jerk open. Then I twist the blade of the sword out of the thick dirt with a single movement, shoving it back into its scabbard. My tongue runs over my chapped lips, wetting it to become even dryer.

I need meat.

The Palace is nearly empty. And by the time, I get to the kitchen in hopes of finding something— it's locked. The doors are firmly closed shut, to protect Palace supplies from those like me. My pace turns faster as I make a full circle, looking for any unlocked door. But all of them are sealed off to any outsider.

I curse.

I'd wasted time for nothing.

The Beast growls. And no matter how many times I tell it to shut up, it doesn't listen to me. I feel it whisper incessantly, raking its claws down wherever unblemished space it finds.

It cries for her. The cries turn to screams.

"Damn it."

I rush back out into the corridors, cold in my fingertips even with the cloak thick around my shoulders. My eyes turn to the next thing, a dark green outside the windows as twilight sets into night.

The forest.

I sway. A surge of dizziness sweeps through my head, and it almost makes me miss the soft padding of footsteps close behind me. Someone's coming up behind me. I hear cloth dragging on the floor.

I whip around, unsheathing my sword and aiming the silver tip towards the silhouette there. Sweat pours down the sides of my face, soaking into the cloth of the mask hiding the monstrosity behind my lips.

My vision is haze.

But it's a woman.

My eyes flicker. Each breath turns heavier, as I instinctively think of her. The mask makes it harder to breathe, but I can't take it off. The heat of the air fills up to the brim of my throat.


The woman steps closer, and I falter backwards. My back hits against the wall, firm and hard. A fragrance chokes the air.

And it's neither the warmth or sweetness of her lavender aroma.

It's her.

Rumi Lia.

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