Fenrir

The forest is quiet, a lone rock stands amidst a clearing littered with deadfall and fallen branches; and to it, tethered by a golden cord, sits Fenrir. The wolf-girl grinds her teeth in frustration, muscles flexing and contracting as she strains endlessly at the fetters, cutting into her slender wrists. As ever, to no avail. She clenches and unclenches her fists over and over, claws digging into the pads of her paws as she struggles to free her hands. The rope groans under the stress but does not yield. Nor shall it ever. It's all she can do to sit there, waiting. She is Fenrir, bringer of Ragnarök, the wolf that will devour the sun and moon. Her hunger is endless. Her thirst for destruction is unquenchable.  The end of days flows through her veins.