Summary: A very short story that takes place directly after "[[To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time]]".
"Fear and flee the wolf, my little one."
Angela Carter, The Company of Wolves
Is it hunger that you see in his eyes, or something else? There is the ice, yes, there is always the ice. Such a strange ice it is too - green and translucent, glittering with an unholy light, and deep within, the swirling tentacles of true darkness...
Oh, look at you! Such confidence, such power! That aura of purity around you, pulsing with a beat all its own, almost alive. Such a formidable shield and you, frozen within. Suspended in that timeless gap between moments, the white flame of innocence burning with blinding strength within you.
And yet when he calls to you, will you go? Leave the light behind, join his darkness?
He is more than darkness, you say. He controls it, even lets some light seep into his soul, bit by bit. But I say that his soul is a deep and bottomless pit that will swallow it all as if it had never been there.
After all, it only lies in the nature of the beast, and he is a true predator, the hunting instincts bred into his bones, pressing down on his mind with the weight of millions of years of evolution.
You say he is compassionate. Strong. And he is. He killed you once, remember? You didn't even scream. It was quick, and as painless as he could make it. After all, predators are not naturally cruel. Efficient, yes, but not intentionally cruel.
Tell me, what hurt you more? The killing, or the dispassionate way he did it? So casual.
No rage. No regrets.
You can join him. But when you do, you only have two choices: either become like him, or end as prey. The wolf is so tender with his own, so tender.
But only with his own.