06-16-2016, 04:19 PM
The bats have left the bell tower
The victims have been bled
I am alone.
I've only existed for a few months in the large world but I am not scared nor would I really know if I were. My slick black coat melts against the shadows of the tall, dying grasses. The wet dew of early morning is absorbed into my young and thirst skin as I walk. My mother, Shadowmere is roaming further ahead. She has not left my side since my birth and even after I am full of her milk and have moved on to the starchy grasses.
At times I am annoyed that she is near me bu at other times I enjoy her doting, ever careful and attentive. My small lips wriggle to a curled smile.
When my maneless dam has occupied herself with other equines, I take this time to shift, vaporizing to a silvery mist. I am trembling, weightless, perfect. My undead eyes see the blend of spirits that roam between the living. Some a shrieking and some are carrying on conversations. I am fascinated by the dead ever since I have discovered my will over my ghost shifting ability. I am able to see and talk to them. Some times I ignore them just to watch their skin melt and their decay. It always depends on my mood.
And sometimes, Oste, the dead girl who fueled my birth, bothers me, whispering. I purse my lips and blow her away with a twisted smile. As I drift along, I flow over the bodies of other horses...they shiver in their sleep as my chill is reached to their bones before I take form again as the wet black filly that I am. Other times I take on a form of a shadow, invisible.
But now-
Now I am myself.
Young.
Supple.
Haunted.
I've only existed for a few months in the large world but I am not scared nor would I really know if I were. My slick black coat melts against the shadows of the tall, dying grasses. The wet dew of early morning is absorbed into my young and thirst skin as I walk. My mother, Shadowmere is roaming further ahead. She has not left my side since my birth and even after I am full of her milk and have moved on to the starchy grasses.
At times I am annoyed that she is near me bu at other times I enjoy her doting, ever careful and attentive. My small lips wriggle to a curled smile.
When my maneless dam has occupied herself with other equines, I take this time to shift, vaporizing to a silvery mist. I am trembling, weightless, perfect. My undead eyes see the blend of spirits that roam between the living. Some a shrieking and some are carrying on conversations. I am fascinated by the dead ever since I have discovered my will over my ghost shifting ability. I am able to see and talk to them. Some times I ignore them just to watch their skin melt and their decay. It always depends on my mood.
And sometimes, Oste, the dead girl who fueled my birth, bothers me, whispering. I purse my lips and blow her away with a twisted smile. As I drift along, I flow over the bodies of other horses...they shiver in their sleep as my chill is reached to their bones before I take form again as the wet black filly that I am. Other times I take on a form of a shadow, invisible.
But now-
Now I am myself.
Young.
Supple.
Haunted.
graveside