You lay on the damp floor, covered in your own blood. You grasp for air as you wonder how you even got here, why no one had come to your aid. A scream leaves your lips as the pain rips through you in waves, it feels as if the lioness still has her paws in your chest.
You told any one that would listen, that she could be kind, that she only acted out because her soul had been broken by hunters. Like a hunter you claim not to be. You pretended to gain morals, at least you try to convince everyone, even yourself, that you had them.
You were warned against going, you were told that she could never be tamed, that she was dangerous to you, but you didn’t listen. You lived for the thrill of trying to make her yours. You followed her into the woods, hoping that all the other stories would be false, knowing you had created such tails yourself. You watched as she roared and howled into the night, thinking you wouldn’t care if she gave you scars, enjoying it even. The excitement of it drove you crazy and you hoped that one day she would bend to your will, that her teeth and her claws would continue to only touch the surface of your skin.
You curse into the black sky, as your breathing begins to slow. The iced air around you grows cold and the smell of fresh cut grass drowns your senses.
How wrong were you to think that the world owed you something?
How wrong were you to think, that your demons wouldn’t catch up with you?
Now you would have to face them, there was no running away from them now. No hiding behind your mask of shame.
The last inch of air leaves your lungs and you are consumed by the darkness.
Your last thoughts are of loneliness and despair, which were brought on by actions formed and moulded with your own hands.