watch raven not her prey

Allison does her best, but her voice is a little strangled. “Fern, hi!” So Fern is already picking up on some odd vibes as she stands in the heavy University fire-door.

“Alright, Allison. You okay?” Fern’s startling green eyes flicker between me standing by Allison and you in the chair. “Bit of pre-drinking science?”

“You know me,” she says, with levity not reflected in her imploring eyes. “Always b— busy!”

The pause while Fern decides whether to get help gives you a slim window in which to act. Poor Allison gets an introduction to yet another uncanny aspect of your nature: inky black erupts from your back and arcs towards Fern. One slams into the door, hammering it shut. One flicks round Fern’s throat, blade pointed outward.

She chokes from the pressure across her windpipe and scrabbles to relieve it. Her hands come away bloody, flesh pared in parts to the bone.

Allison gives voice to the scream that Fern can’t. I put a hand on her shoulder, gentle, and the scream cuts off. She watches with horror as you tug Fern into a stumble towards you.

I murmur reassurances. “It’s okay. I know it’s shocking. Look at Raven. Watch her, not F— not her prey.”

“Prey,” she repeats hollowly… but she obeys, turning her attention to you.

You’ve barely moved, having apparently decided to keep hooked up to the EEG for the time being. The traces on the screens jump around crazily, opaque to us both. Allison understands something of their readings, though.

“She’s calm,” she says, as you pull up Fern onto tip toes in front of you. Your second tendril, returned from the door, slices down the front of her clothing. Her little pot belly draws a pleased growl from you. “Maybe hungry. But focused. Is she… is she a psychopath?”

“No. She’s hyper-empathic, even. It’s just that this is natural. Do you get worked up about a pork chop? Look, Allison.”

She looks from the screens just in time to see your tendril pierce her chest, delicately corkscrewing its way between her ribs. We can’t see, but you feel her heat and the beating of her terrified heart in exquisite detail. Your blade alights upon her aorta and she opens up to you, pushing blood through the dark connection. You shiver in delight. Having hot, fresh blood begin to gush into your system without intermediary of tongue and teeth removes half the pleasure, but really brings focus to the feeling of your stomach slowly expanding.

“She’s just… feeding?”

“Mhmm.” I squeeze her shoulder again. “Don’t think it’ll stay that way. Banana pancakes…”

You speak up. “I can hear you both, you know.”

We go quiet, like schoolkids caught talking in class.

Fern has been going paler and paler with each stolen beat of her heart. At the proper time you let her lower to the ground. She crumples, but you fold her onto her knees.

“Allison, come feed me your friend.”

From behind you, silence. Fern shakes her head, fillered lips open in a silent plea for help.

“Come on. You’ll be gentler than I will. I’m starving.”

You can’t possibly see, but I can. She’s looking at you: the way your bum overhangs the chair on both sides, the belly folding cosily in your lap. Your words creep in through her ears and silently overcome her defences. You speak directly to the part of her that would let you slice off her own breast.

She can’t see, but Fern can, how you smile when she takes her first step.

At first it looks like she’s there for her friend. She kneels beside her, one arm on her friend’s back, concerned.

“She’s shivering.”

“I’m warm,” you say, then breathe out a blood-scented belch.

(I know what she’s doing. She’s looking up at you from the same position that Fern is in. I wonder what her EEG would look like?)

She stands like she’s possessed and staggers a step towards you. With hands either side of you face she angles your head up and kisses you. It’s like she’s trying to go first. Her tongue explores the depth of your mouth so tenderly you almost take it. Just before you change plans and prevent her from parting, she leans away. With lips stained burgundy she breathes, “kneeling, please, Raven.”

You consider, then detach yourself from electrodes. Tracelines snap to zero as you settle yourself down before the sobbing Fern.

Meanwhile, Allison wastes no time pulling away Fern’s ruined clothes. She really is shivering: you can see the way it makes her tits wobble. No easy way to pull off the tights, but when she pulls Fern backwards you cheekily snicker-snap a tendril blade up and down her legs till the sheer fabric peels away.

“No,” says Fern, voice thick like a drunkard. I suppose she is, by one definition. “Please, please no.”

Allison shushes and holds her in a hug from behind. Apparently you are to put her legs into your mouth on your own.

Oh wait, no. I kneel beside her and firmly pick up her meaty calves, holding them at lip height.

All you need to do is lick your lips and open up.