4/3/2025, 12:41 AM
This post is hidden due to the following trigger warning: Slight depictions / themes / emotions of sexual assault.
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The brush of his tail startled her—though not outwardly. Her body didn’t jolt. Her breath didn’t catch. But something inside of her shrank, folding smaller at the press of him beside her. He shifted. She felt it. The closeness wasn’t a question—it simply was. He didn’t tug, didn’t force, but his nearness swallowed her all the same.
She didn’t pull away. She knew better.
The praise—good girl—drifted over her like the rustle of dead leaves. Familiar. Faint. It was what you said to a thing that listened.
Lithe kept her eyes down. She didn’t move. She didn’t ask why she was here or what he wanted, because she knew there was no real answer. Not one that mattered.
He was warm. She was small. That was enough.
Her thoughts began to drift, the way they always did when she didn’t understand something but couldn’t make it stop. A place inside her turned quiet. Blank. The stone beneath her pressed up through her paws and into her chest, grounding and cold.
And then she saw them.
Out beyond the mouth of the den—where snow gathered in tufts and the moon painted everything in silver—stood trees. Pink ones. Soft, blooming, wrong for this time of year. Too bright, too warm. She stared.
She didn’t think they were real. But that didn’t matter.
The wind carried something sweet. She didn’t know the word for it, not exactly, but it reminded her of something soft. Something her nose liked. Something that wasn’t this.
One of the trees moved gently, almost like it was breathing. For a moment, it reminded her of a stretch—like how her father used to do, before sleep, when Lithe was still small enough to curl beneath his chest. That was a long time ago. Maybe it hadn’t happened at all.
Her stomach hurt.
She thought about the salamander Draugur had brought her once. It had been black with yellow dots. It had been dead, cold when he placed it at her paws. She remembered the way its tiny legs folded stiffly, the way its belly touched the rock without a sound.
It hadn’t needed to stand up.
Lucky thing.
She didn’t pull away. She knew better.
The praise—good girl—drifted over her like the rustle of dead leaves. Familiar. Faint. It was what you said to a thing that listened.
Lithe kept her eyes down. She didn’t move. She didn’t ask why she was here or what he wanted, because she knew there was no real answer. Not one that mattered.
He was warm. She was small. That was enough.
Her thoughts began to drift, the way they always did when she didn’t understand something but couldn’t make it stop. A place inside her turned quiet. Blank. The stone beneath her pressed up through her paws and into her chest, grounding and cold.
And then she saw them.
Out beyond the mouth of the den—where snow gathered in tufts and the moon painted everything in silver—stood trees. Pink ones. Soft, blooming, wrong for this time of year. Too bright, too warm. She stared.
She didn’t think they were real. But that didn’t matter.
The wind carried something sweet. She didn’t know the word for it, not exactly, but it reminded her of something soft. Something her nose liked. Something that wasn’t this.
One of the trees moved gently, almost like it was breathing. For a moment, it reminded her of a stretch—like how her father used to do, before sleep, when Lithe was still small enough to curl beneath his chest. That was a long time ago. Maybe it hadn’t happened at all.
Her stomach hurt.
She thought about the salamander Draugur had brought her once. It had been black with yellow dots. It had been dead, cold when he placed it at her paws. She remembered the way its tiny legs folded stiffly, the way its belly touched the rock without a sound.
It hadn’t needed to stand up.
Lucky thing.
![[Image: 3-by-nopeita-di8epxv.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/PfbwRdVq/3-by-nopeita-di8epxv.png)
