[ There are a few of them in the lake. Mortal boys turned into monsters by the whims of the manor, a lesson in "told you so" written on their bodies in scales and fins. Armand doesn't mind, though it means competing with them for victims. At least there are plenty of those to choose from. And it's nice to have company, down in the green darkness and the mud. Limbs to twine with, hands to reach for.
But there's another -- more natural, keeping himself aside from Armand and his brothers. A newcomer, unknown to them. Armand watches him, when he can. Choosing his moment.
At the question, he looks from the young man's face to the egg and back again. There's hot blood in him, salt and brine like the sea. Armand can smell it. It makes him hungry for more than just company. ]
It's a prize. [ He touches the egg with his thumb, pushing it back and forth in his palm. His nails are sharp points sculpted from mother-of-pearl, and there are thin webs between his fingers. ] I imagine it contains something valuable.
no subject
But there's another -- more natural, keeping himself aside from Armand and his brothers. A newcomer, unknown to them. Armand watches him, when he can. Choosing his moment.
At the question, he looks from the young man's face to the egg and back again. There's hot blood in him, salt and brine like the sea. Armand can smell it. It makes him hungry for more than just company. ]
It's a prize. [ He touches the egg with his thumb, pushing it back and forth in his palm. His nails are sharp points sculpted from mother-of-pearl, and there are thin webs between his fingers. ] I imagine it contains something valuable.