Lets admire the pattern forming. Murderous friligree. 

Father sang me this song a lot, I found. It wasn’t a lullaby though. It was almost his prophecy for me, telling me what we could become if we worked together. 

I’m caught in the twisting of the vine. Go ascend with ivy, climbing. 

I am tucked safely between a rock and towering birch tree. I watch the creeper climb over the boulder and sneak towards the tree, threatening to devour it with its viney claws.

ignore and leave for me the headstone crumbling behind. I can’t help my laughter as she cries.

I begin to chuckle. “Take it, take the tree!” I chant, over and over. Father doesn’t allow me much freedom, so I must make my own fun. My coat changes colors as I imagine the creeper going in for it’s kill. Take it, take it!

My soul brings tears to angelic eyes. Let’s amend the classic story, close it so beautifully, I’ll let animosity unwind. 

I roll over playfully onto my back. The creeper is nearly upon the birch tree now. It snakes its way up the bark, closing in. Take it, take the tree! 

Steal away the darkened pages, hidden shamefully. I’ll still feel the violence of the lines. 

The tree screams, begs for help. The creeper is reaching its ivy fingers into its heart, playing with the strings. It plucks them like a violin, I hum to the tune. Take it, take it!

I can’t stand my laughter as they cry. My soul brings tears to angelic eyes. 

The tree begs for help, but no help is there. The rambler grasps his heart with those long claws and I let out a howling laugh. This will be your demise, tree. Take it, take the tree!

And miles away my mother cries. Omnipotence, nurturing malevolence. 

The creeper stares at me, Cheshire smile twitching his lips. Take it! He pulls out the heart, and the tree lets out a final gasp. Birch crumbles to the ground and the creeper moves on, taking what he wants from all the others. Take each tree, he’s never done. 

My soul brings tears to angelic eyes…

And miles away my mother cries…

I hear her voice before I see her. An angelic soprano, cutting through the quiet of the trees. It causes the vine to recoil, she had startled it, but she hadn’t startled me.

I’m still laying on my back when she comes into view. I look up at her upside down figure and grin. She is beautiful shades of gold with ebony drapery. Her voice is sweet, unlike the shrill scream of my nursemaid. I don’t know my real mother (and the woman who fed me was far from nurturing, the scars on my small body only go to prove it), but I was hoping it was her.

“The creeper came and took the trees, Mama,” I tell her, wriggling my long legs playfully. The sun peers through the trees an illuminated my speckled coat. But I want it to look like hers…

So I change it, first starting from my legs, up, until I look like morning sunshine. “I look like you, Mama. Don’t you like it?”

Omnipotence, nurturing malevolence...

I hear the voices all too much, I always have.

Quiet whispers sail on the wind, through the trees and to my waiting ears. Sometimes, I cannot tell if they are other horses or the shadows themselves. I like to think my forest sings to me, the way Dynast never does. Papa tries (and oh do I beg him to), but he’s busy and doesn’t do it often.

“Then I will be all the colors, Mama,” I tell my golden lady. My coat shifts to every color I can imagine, a rainbow in the middle of the forest. “The creeper is my only friend. I like when he makes the trees scream…” I flip over onto my stomach and cease the changing of my pallet, legs sprawled beneath me. “...he could take the whole forest if he wants to.” I giggle impishly. Could she see him, the rambler as it crawls back over my hidden body? It will come for her as it comes for the trees, but will instead caress her beauty. “He won’t hurt you, he knows I like you!”

Her nose is soft like damp spring soil. I lean into it, grinning ear to ear. “You feel like the silk-worms satin, Mama,” I whisper to her, gently kissing the tip of her nose with my tongue.

I contemplate her question, rising on shaky legs. Out of my cocoon, like a little moth, i sidle up to her, rubbing my body upon hers. She smells like blood and fallen leaves - I love that smell.

“We help him hunt, Mama!” I exclaim, wiggling my rump in anticipation “Teach me, let’s help the creeper!”