He's woken in the new world, hardly confused, hardly aware of what had taken place. He simply walks into the middle of the meadow looking around, looking for his next victim. Who would be his next victim? What innocent soul could he take and mold into the black ugliness that is his. That is what he does, he steals them, steals their identities, anything and everything that makes them separate and distinct he takes, he mirrors them. It’s not just a mirror though, he is everything the innocent refuse to acknowledge is in them. The evil, and beautifully dark part of themselves. The looks of horror, the sickened coldness as they shy away, the image of them realizing that this is exactly what they could be. What they in all honestly want to be.

So he stands there, the burning desire of change lingers in the back of his mind. He doesn’t change though, he stands there waiting, looking, each horse that catches his eye. They do not notice him, these horses that he faces, they do not realize their capacity, they are not ready to see what it is they truly are. They would be no fun to entertain, then something does catch his. It’s a shadow at first, one that breaks from its surroundings. He can’t quite make out its figure, but it’s there, and with it, a whisper in his mind that this would be a delicious one.

He swallows, he shivers as he watches the hazy shadow take shape. It comes closer, and still it’s to hazy to make out completely just yet. His veins pulse in eager anticipation, he stands there waiting. The marble cut of his muscles twitch, just once. But its enough to release some of his pent up need to step forward and take charge. That is not how he wants this to go though, it would not do to have his victim taking charge of him. No, waiting is better, let it come to him, let the other beg and plead for his mercy, the mercy that does not exist within him.

Kryten