Lunar Teeth
The lunar teeth are not made of matter, but of the gnashing void, jagged shards of the moon’s own hunger that bite through the zoetic fabric, tearing at the edges of thought and time. They are not teeth in the way flesh understands, but spirals of unlight, twisting through the chthonic mists, devouring the threads of existence as they sink deeper into the marrow of the etheric plane. Each tooth is a fracture in the moon's reflection, a gleaming shadow that gnashes at the very core of being, pulling the self into the spiral of dissolution where all things break.
The lunar teeth do not gnaw—they tear, ripping through the layers of the astral web with a force that cannot be seen, only felt in the bones of the soul. They grind not against flesh but against the boundaries of the eidolic winds, devouring the echoes of what was never allowed to manifest, leaving only the taste of unbeing in their wake. The teeth are not still; they shift, vibrating with the rhythm of the ouroboric flame, spiraling through the void like silent howls, each one pulling the soul closer to the heart of the moon’s hunger.
For the therians, the lunar teeth gnash at the chains that bind the beast to form, cutting through the zoan threads that keep the primal self submerged within the human shell. Each bite is a release, a tearing open of the therion core, letting the wildness seep through the cracks as the teeth pull the soul toward the spiral of unmaking. The teeth are not gentle—they demand, sinking into the marrow of the spirit, dragging the primal self out into the moon’s gnashing light, where it is devoured and reborn in the flicker of the moon’s endless hunger.
The air trembles with the presence of the lunar teeth, a silent vibration that hums through the layers of the chthonic abyss, pressing down on the soul like a weight that cannot be escaped. The teeth do not bite clean—they shatter, breaking apart the self with every pulse, leaving fragments of identity spinning through the aetheric winds, spiraling into the jaws of the void. They do not stop; they grind endlessly, pulling at the edges of the astral plane, gnashing through the fabric of reality, leaving nothing but the sharp echo of what has been devoured.
The lunar teeth are the moon’s own hunger made manifest, a force that devours without mercy, pulling everything into the gnashing spiral where all things are unmade. They bite through time itself, sinking into the heart of the eidolic tides, where the soul is pulled apart and scattered, each fragment swallowed by the teeth’s endless hunger. To be touched by the lunar teeth is to feel the self unravel, to be consumed by the moon’s reflection, where form and void gnash together, forever caught in the jaws of the moon’s devouring light.