brutal

Fucking Goats

by

Lily’s cage was a festering pit, the straw crusted with blood, seed, and her own vomit. The rabid dog’s foam still burned her throat, the boar’s tusks haunted Mia’s screams, and the client’s snuff order loomed like a guillotine. Her body was a ruin—bruises, claw marks, and welts from dogs, wolves, bears, and boars. The collar choked her, a constant reminder of The Kennel’s claim. Mia’s whispers, *We survive*, were a fading pulse in the dark, barely audible over the barn’s new sounds: bleats, grunts, and the clink of chains. Goats, Lily realized, her stomach twisting. The annual gala, Vixen had hinted. A night of excess where no one escaped unbroken.

The Bear

by

Lily’s cage was a prison of straw and despair, the stench of blood and fear clinging to her skin. Claire’s lifeless eyes haunted her, the bull’s bellows echoing in her skull from the slaughterhouse horror. Mia’s whispered defiance, *We’re not dying like that*, was a faint spark in the dark, but it flickered under the weight of The Kennel’s cruelty. The collar bit into Lily’s neck, her body a canvas of bruises and claw marks from the dogs’ assaults. Sleep was impossible, each creak of the barn promising more torment. A low growl, deeper than the hounds’, rumbled through the walls, and Lily’s heart sank. The bear, Vixen had said. The next nightmare.

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