4/5/2026, 1:40 AM
zharille did not care for offers.
she stood planted like a boulder, shoulders bunched, broad chest heaving. the back half of the hare dangled from her clenched teeth.
she took one heavy step forward, paws slamming into the snow and ice, claws gouging deep. another step. the half-carcass swung wildly from her jaws, slapping against her bloodied chest with wet, meaty thuds.
a low, guttural growl rolled from deep in her throat, muffled and ugly around the mouthful of torn hare.
the name came out through clenched teeth, distorted and rough, forced between grinding molars and the mangled remains still locked in her jaws. it sounded more like a threat than a name — grunted, bestial, spat out with bits of blood and fur. she shook her great head once, violently, sending another spray of crimson across the frost and nearly losing her grip on the dangling hindquarters.
she did not return the playful tone. she did not match the coy grin. she simply stood there, massive and immovable, blood dripping from her chin in steady plops onto the snow while she chewed once, twice, swallowing a chunk of raw meat with a loud, wet gulp.
zharille dropped the torn haunches onto the frost with a wet slap and immediately lowered her great head, jaws parting wide. she ate like the ogre she was — ugly, greedy, and without shame. blood already painted her muzzle, chest, and forelegs in thick, glistening streaks that froze in the cold night air. she buried her face into the steaming pile of entrails, snout shoving roughly through loops of gut and slick purple organs as if she were truffle-hunting in soft earth. wet slurping sounds filled the silver-lit clearing as she tore into the warm mess, teeth ripping through liver and intestine with crude, crunching bites. strings of viscera hung from her chin and swung with every violent shake of her head, only to be sucked back in between her blood-smeared lips. she chewed with her mouth half-open, grunting and snorting hot breath into the spilled guts, swallowing great chunks whole while more blood and bile dripped heavily from her jaws onto the snow. there was nothing graceful in it — only raw, bestial hunger, the ogre woman feeding as though the entire world might try to steal her prize if she paused even for a breath.
her tongue swept across her teeth. hunger still gnawed at her gut, but satisfaction flickered beneath it—crude, simple, victorious.
she stood planted like a boulder, shoulders bunched, broad chest heaving. the back half of the hare dangled from her clenched teeth.
she took one heavy step forward, paws slamming into the snow and ice, claws gouging deep. another step. the half-carcass swung wildly from her jaws, slapping against her bloodied chest with wet, meaty thuds.
a low, guttural growl rolled from deep in her throat, muffled and ugly around the mouthful of torn hare.
zharille.
the name came out through clenched teeth, distorted and rough, forced between grinding molars and the mangled remains still locked in her jaws. it sounded more like a threat than a name — grunted, bestial, spat out with bits of blood and fur. she shook her great head once, violently, sending another spray of crimson across the frost and nearly losing her grip on the dangling hindquarters.
she did not return the playful tone. she did not match the coy grin. she simply stood there, massive and immovable, blood dripping from her chin in steady plops onto the snow while she chewed once, twice, swallowing a chunk of raw meat with a loud, wet gulp.
zharille dropped the torn haunches onto the frost with a wet slap and immediately lowered her great head, jaws parting wide. she ate like the ogre she was — ugly, greedy, and without shame. blood already painted her muzzle, chest, and forelegs in thick, glistening streaks that froze in the cold night air. she buried her face into the steaming pile of entrails, snout shoving roughly through loops of gut and slick purple organs as if she were truffle-hunting in soft earth. wet slurping sounds filled the silver-lit clearing as she tore into the warm mess, teeth ripping through liver and intestine with crude, crunching bites. strings of viscera hung from her chin and swung with every violent shake of her head, only to be sucked back in between her blood-smeared lips. she chewed with her mouth half-open, grunting and snorting hot breath into the spilled guts, swallowing great chunks whole while more blood and bile dripped heavily from her jaws onto the snow. there was nothing graceful in it — only raw, bestial hunger, the ogre woman feeding as though the entire world might try to steal her prize if she paused even for a breath.
her tongue swept across her teeth. hunger still gnawed at her gut, but satisfaction flickered beneath it—crude, simple, victorious.
your queen is dead. bow.she commands—unaware that this was not castle rock, or anything close to it. she had conquered these people and expected a certain level of obeisance, or at the very least fear, neither of which this stranger exuded.