I tasted the flesh of man before my first moon. It’s a ritual, part of the blooding ritual a hatchling has to undertake before they can leave the pits. It was seared to hide the branding marks, the skin taken from a captive of the last wars, but I ate it like ambrosia.
We all did.
It’s a horrible curse, to be free to walk amongst men. Our purpose, the very raison d’être of our existence, is to instil fear within the mortal folk. To take at random and leave the eviscerated remnants. Our form was broken, hideous. But we could pass, invisible to mens eyes as they looked away from the skin.
Throughout all history, we have done this. As plagues or crusades or inquisitions, we have tortured mens souls because they torture our very bellies. Until I met you.
It was early autumn, in a city where the leaves turned orange but the wind and the rain had yet to come, that I found you sitting on a park bench, listening to the children play in the twilight. I sat beside you and already my mind raced through images of your corpse, splayed out across the playground. Oh I would feast so well.
You smiled at me.
I showed you my face but you didn’t cry out. Your hand reached for my own, feeling the scars and broken bones from punishments for failing to please our masters. You caressed it. You reached for my face with your blind fingers and I flinched.
But you smiled at me.
And I let you place your palm against my own skin. I could smell you. So perfect. So delicate. My stomach ached and I wanted to devour you there and then but my mouth could not form the words to speak to you, much less rip into you. I cried, sitting there on the park bench.
For you smiled at me.
And in that instant I knew I would go hungry for as long as I lived and as long as I lived I would not be able to see a mortal face without seeing your smile.
Prompt originally posted by Hypersmith on reddit and received 4 upvotes.