Emotions were not her foretay, detached and bland were how she preferred her days. But that seemed to allude the emerald mare. Her mind had grown, changed in some way when she last came from the top of her mountain to join the war below. She had felt joy for the first time then. In the blood that scattered through the air, in the way it fell in a unique pattern upon the ground. In that the deep red hue her pleasure center with him twisted mind had switched on. Demian had found her then, convinced her to stay, told her he would train her, help her control her....oddity. It was a suitable relationship. Mutually beneficial. She learned to control the urge to spray the blood of any passing creature, and he gained a unique member to his diplomats.
But he lied. he never met her where they had planned. He never followed through and Slaybell was mad. the core feral emotion that the twisted are clung to, and for awhile it was satisfying plotting and scheming while she allowed her anger to fester like an inflamed cyst. He had left the shadowy low lands of the Valley and took solstice in her mountain top. But the opportunity to alleviate her anger never came. The scent of Demian never returned,so the whole thing had become a black hole of what-ifs and unfinished business. She needed it gone, the unwanted emotion was not convenient for her, so the stocky mare decided to return to Valley. It only seemed appropriate.
So she stood at the Valley border, technically she had permission, but that was years ago. She stood there a moment longer, unsure what to do next. The decision was clear enough, she had never been one for formalities in the past, so why start now. With that, a bright emerald leg moved into Valley, and they didn't stop after that. Slaybell slowly stalked through the trees and shadows. It wasn't like she purposefully moved in that slinky handle, it just happened. She really never was meant for this world.
Slaybell
The Evil Christmas Bitch