origins of a monster
a metaphoric showcase of female empowerment in a toxic relationship. by realising they're the same, [intellectual] undermining no longer works and the woman becomes monstrous in patriarchal eyes.
She was choking.
His claw-like nails had punctured the skin on both sides of her neck, forcing out a crimson ooze powered by the accelerated thump-thump of her heart. Stupid organ, she thought, if I didn’t possess you, I’d never be on this cliff.
The wind around the two bodies picked up, swaying her now frail one dangerously closer to the edge. If she wasn’t nearly certain this would be her way to go, she would’ve appreciated the man’s edging tactics- finally something he did got her off. Maybe she could have made a snarky remark at this moment, something to tick him off so she could be thrown in the murky depths faster and be done with it- but the man doesn’t get a voice in this story.
His menacing elongated teeth glistened in the moonlight as he smirked over her pale form, eliciting all those moments when he would tell her she wasn’t good enough, to not think so loud, to watch where she was going and mind her tongue. She’d become so small to please him, so vulnerable to his touch and rare words of praise.
She’d learned to take bites off a plate filled with glistening crumbs, licking her chops like a Pavlovian dog every time he’d ring her bell.
The remaining blood in her body began to boil- she’d forgotten herself in his clutches, had let him feed off her mind and body while convincing her she was all the worse for possessing both, leaving her and whatever consciousness she had left as a husk. Neural synapses sent lightning bolts down pathways as one realization led to another, and her rage increased at every turn and clash. How could she let herself believe she was less than him when they were both cut from the same cloth, and sired under the same moon?
Blood thrumming, fragile fingers lengthened into the same claws still drawing crimson from her neck. No one will ever make me feel this way again, she thought decisively, because no one will ever come close to try. Under the guise of her frailty convincing him he was still in charge, she carefully positioned her right foot behind his own dominant and looked into those cold, soulless eyes for the last time. Then with all her might she kicked his legs under him while simultaneously removing his claws on her left hand and fell on top of his body- four feet now dangling from the cliff in synchronicity. Pinning his hands to the ground before he could react, she opened her mouth as wide as she could- ripping the pale stitches holding the skin to her lips together, and bit his head off.