𝑨𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑹.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟴. Ra Briezt had always loved the hunt. Born into privilege, he inherited a playground where lives could be bought as easily as trophies. His father purchased slaves, released them onto a private island, and he hunted them for sport. The chase was exhilarating. The terror in their eyes, the desperate sprint through the trees. He laughed louder with every kill. “Such a young man, yet already fascinated by such a crude pastime.” A lone finger glided over the photograph of a youth barely old enough to be called a man, his grin frozen in time. The figure let out a sigh, “Sometimes you have to wonder which one is the human... and which one is the animal.” They then tore the photograph clean in two, the young man's face splitting neatly along the seam. “Curious, isn't it? Humans are so fond of calling beasts savage, yet I've never seen an animal hunt for amusement.” “If he likes it so much, then let him be the beast. With a pair of ears and a tail, body of furs.” “Yes,” the figure nodded approvingly as they set aside the torn photograph. “Let's make our own lion.”

⠀ ⠀ 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ⠀ ⠀

⠀ 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐔𝐗-𝐏𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄, 𝟏𝟗:𝟑𝟎. ⠀