The Tyger
A short story set in the Grim Darkness universe.

By The Virus



Atolm lay next to the young white tigress, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept. He studied her naked form carefully, observing the subtle contradictions. He admired her slender, yet muscular body, its striped pattern simultaneously simple yet intricate, in vivid monochrome. The look of content tranquillity on her feline features was at once innocent, yet majestically predatorial.

Her name, or so she said, was Nirvana. She was a little piece of heaven all right.

She was also as adventurous as they come, willing to try anything. He hadn't yet introduced her to some of the more… intense games that members of the cult played, but he had to admit she had surprised him with how far she was prepared to go. Especially for one so young: she claimed she was twenty-one, but Atolm would have placed her closer to eighteen, perhaps younger. Yes, she would have made a fine addition to their little club… if Atolm had allowed her to live that long.

"Tyger, Tyger, burning bright," he murmured affectionately, as he delicately stroked her exposed throat with clawed fingertips, "In the forests of the night," The girl stirred slightly at his touch, her eyelids flickering faintly. He nuzzled her neck tenderly, and whispered in her ear: "Wake up little kitten. Rise and shine, Nirvana. You won't want to miss this final moment of enlightenment."

He kissed her throat gently, as she slowly began to rouse. He pressed his forked tongue against her jugular, feeling the pulse of her warm blood just beneath the furred skin. She purred lazily in a drowsy, semi-wakeful bliss.

The Gila monster opened his mouth and closed his jaws gently around her neck. He sank his sharp teeth into her flesh with agonising slowness. With a sharp intake of breath the white tiger was suddenly wide-awake, struck with mortal fear. He held her arms firmly at her sides and slowly bit deeper into her throat. Hot blood flowed into his mouth as she struggled vainly beneath his strong arms, gurgling and choking in distress. He drank deeply from her lifeblood, embracing her tenderly as her strength gradually ebbed away.

Her struggles eventually gave way to feeble convulsions, and with a sharp twist of his head, Atolm tore the girl's throat out, splashing her torso with a spray of crimson.

Blood dripping from his jaws, he sat back and took Nirvana's hand in his own, watching with enthralled fascination as the tigress died on the red-stained sheets. Her green eyes, once bright and lively, now stared glassily at the ceiling. Her mouth, blood oozing from the corners, hung open, the lower lip trembling slightly. Her ravaged throat was a gaping ruin, and the crimson spattering her chest contrasted beautifully with her snowy, black-striped fur. Her body twitched faintly several more times, and then she was still.

Atolm closed the dead girl's sightless eyes with his fingertips, and kissed her on the forehead.

"What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?" he finished with whispered reverence.