Recent content by GHOSTMASK

GHOSTMASKSHE/HER ౨ৎ DUSKCLAN WARRIOR The patchwork apprentice under her claws stumbles and wails pathetically, and though it’s what Ghostmask had planned, it feels nearly unsatisfactory. Is there any assertion of one will over another’s, or merely a fulfillment of something predestined? A...

GHOSTMASKSHE/HER ౨ৎ DUSKCLAN WARRIOR Ghostmask slips into the hollow with hunger caught on her teeth. The sour hunger of an empty belly, yes, but also an entirely different sort—the bloodsick wanting that tugs at her occasional, carries her about on its whims. When Privetfrost gives the order...

GHOSTMASKSHE/HER ౨ৎ DUSKCLAN WARRIOR Escaping leaf-bare bruises the sky an ugly purple as the sun begins to rise, crimson streaks cutting through the swollen-bellied clouds. Ghostmask hunkers down amidst the frost-armored shrubs, flakes of ice melting into the absolute black of her coat as she...

GHOSTMASKSHE/HER ౨ৎ DUSKCLAN WARRIOR Her breath is coming hard, slack-jawed pants trailing steam and foam like the snapping jaws of a coyote. The shape before her isn’t even really a kit anymore—just a wide-eyed creature, a thing upon which to inflict all this hatred, trapped inside her with...

GHOSTMASKSHE/HER ౨ৎ DUSKCLAN WARRIOR Existing in one of the long stretches of clarity that she wanders through between her fits of fury, of bloodlust, her crime is one of desperation rather than madness. Her claws skate over the WindClanner’s throat, just shy of drawing the founts of blood she...

GHOSTMASKSHE/HER ౨ৎ DUSKCLAN WARRIOR Blood. It brims on her canines, stains them from where her fangs dig too-hard into the scruff of the kit in her jaws. Her elbows are peppered with the stuff, where in her frantic flight she has scraped and bumped herself, snagged her jutting joints on...

The taste of Applejaw’s blood on her lips emboldens her. Her forays into the marsh grow deeper and more dangerous, chasing a shadow with black fur and sad green eyes that slinks around the drooping willows. It hides from her, and when she rounds the trunks, it’s already gone. Maybe it was never...

Hungry. She is so stars-damned hungry. Ghostmask doesn't even have the energy for spite left in her slender limbs as she prowls along the WindClan border, a lone fleck of midnight against a sea of frost and snow. Their scrublands (she refuse to call them home) had been barely yielding enough...

TW for dehumanizing descriptions of a corpse/violent thoughts/minor blood and gore. If killing Applejaw had been a high, figuring out what to do with the thing that used to be Applejaw is the crash. That's what it is, really, isn't it? Not a cat anymore, not a deputy's daughter or a...

Applejaw is crying. Tears trickle from her steel-cut eyes and down to the hard set of her gnarled jaw, and Ghostmask feels them sprinkle damp spots on her paw. Dimples are pressing into Applejaw's soft fur where her claws dig into the other's face, just short of the pressure needed to open...

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Some corrupted urge keeps pulling her back to these borders. The place she lives now is not her home, not a home at all—and maybe that's why she keeps finding herself compelled to marsh and moor. One day she's pressing insistently at the seams of ShadowClan, unspooling the tiny threads that make...