The beast was clearly not a creature born of the natural world. If glimpsed only in flashes through the foliage, she might have seemed at first to be a black panther. She was dark as one – a deep chocolate brown that appeared solid black when light hit her fur, when its glossy sheen blinded the viewer to her true color. In shadow it was easier to see the big, solid black rosettes only a shade darker than the deep brown which separated them, like the pattern on a Petoskey stone.

She might also have been mistaken for a grizzly. She was easily that large, humped at the neck, and moved with an indelicate lope that lacked feline grace. The toes of her front paws were elongated almost like fingers and did not match her hind paws.

Her unnatural form was most obvious when the beast stood on her hind legs to walk like a man (a humped over, misshapen man with arms too long and legs which appeared too short because of the way they bent, but a human nonetheless.) It was not the mishmash of animal features that made her grotesque – she might be an exotic creature transported from lands far away if it had been only that – but rather the womanly shape intertwined with the bulk of muscle and fur. It was the human breasts which swung unrestrained when she trotted quickly along on four limbs, the not-quite-roundness of human buttocks that blended into animal haunch, a soft belly. Her shoulders, too, were unnervingly human. Of course they were bulkier than they had any right to be, and joined by thick muscle to an equally thick neck, but her shoulders had all the same range of movement as any human person.

Though every part of her body had a touch of human about it, from the general shape to the paws that were almost like hands, her face was truly animal. The yellow disks and small black pupils that were her eyes held no spark of human intelligence. She'd seen her own reflection many times and thought: I look as if I have no soul. Her face was vaguely bearlike, with a blunt, boxy muzzle and whiskerless lips, but her short ears where much too pointed to complete the look. They looked almost like dog ears that had been cropped. And of course, she was colored like no bear.

She lived in the ruin of an old manor built some time in the early 1700s, in a grassy clearing that was itself deep in the heart of a forest that locals knew better than to enter. The ground leading up to a colonnaded entrance was irregular, with paving stones that had once been a courtyard half-buried and sometimes sticking up at inconvenient angles. Long, windswept grasses hid toppled statuary. Ivy curtained every wall of old gray stone and even many of the windows. Where glass had broken the vines crawled inward as far as the light would reach. Nature had obviously reclaimed this place, and yet: in a corner room on the upper story, with intact windows facing both South and East, the curtains that only partly covered the windows still had their color. The curtains in the rest of the house – those that even still existed – were stiff grey tatters.

The inside of the manor looked much as one might expect from the outer appearance. It had fallen to ruin, all of it but that one room in the upper story. It was a large study with bookshelves lining an entire wall from floor to ceiling, with a sturdy desk in front of the Southerly window with no chair behind it, but rather a padded bench pushed against the window. A long green couch faced a fireplace full of ashes that looked to have rarely been cleaned out, and closer to the fireplace lay a pile of cushions on a large oriental rug. It looked – and smelled – like a large animal lived here, that it had slept often on the couch or on the cushions and had made a dark impression on the couch where it laid most often. The rug, too, was dark. Not grey with age like anything of fabric downstairs, but darkened by dirt that had never been beaten out of it.

Though the center of the room did seem lived in, the outskirts of the room were dusty. No one had touched the bookshelves in a long time, or the few display cases in the corners. The glass was too dirty to see clearly inside any of the cases, but they held curios from faraway places – icons carved from bone, fat shortswords in rotted sheathes, pieces of broken clay tablets, a thick leatherbound book with pages warped by humidity that would probably never open again. The desk looked as though someone had swept an arm across it, letting picture frames and other pieces of clutter smash in a pile on the floor beside it or scatter to that corner of the room. By the thick coat of dust upon the things, it had happened years ago...

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OOC Information:

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Hello! The above prompt is for a story inspired by Beauty and the Beast, but much darker, set in the early 1900s, and with the genders flipped. I will be playing a beastly female creature who is going to imprison an ordinary human male (preferably in the 40-70 age range) in her house. I am cool with other settings as long as the relationship dynamic is the same.

I am looking either for realistic, slow burn romance or non-con lovin'. (With my character as the aggressor.) I am not looking for hateful, violent rape. If rape or molestation does occur, it will be without the intent to cause bodily harm. My character is going to love yours. Whether that is reciprocated or not is up to you. I am also a fan of consensual intimacy, so I'm good either way!

My typical post length is 2-5 paragraphs. (300-450 words, about.) Sometimes they are much longer if I'm setting a scene. Sometimes they are much shorter if our characters are in the middle of a conversation and only a short response is required. I do prefer to reply more than once a day. 2-3 replies per day would be ideal, but I understand life gets in the way.

Please send a writing sample if you have none in your post history. No need to custom write anything for me, old samples are fine. Click here to PM me!