jamie
from the destruction, out of the flame
He is oblivious to the demons with their biting teeth and their scurrying feet. He cannot hear them the way the blue stallion hears them.
How peculiar. Because certainly the demons should belong to the darkness.
Surely the shadow thing should understand them even better than he understands the blue stallion who had looked at him and called him a liar. The shadow thing had not lied. He had tried to help him, but why should he try to help a thing that had lied to him first?
No, the darkness knows only silence except for the rattle of his ribcage and the feeble lungs within it. He pants and wheezes and struggles against the aching and exhaustion in his limbs. They could have rested, the both of them, they could have known peace if he had not lied.
The shadow thing is oblivious to the demons and so does not understand the desperation in the stallion’s voice. Please, please. He will not kill him, no matter how he begs. He has never known anger so intimately. It has never made him so cruel. But he shuffles soundlessly away from the pleas.
He understands the sound that comes whistling out of his mouth but it does not move him to sympathy. He has suffered. His whole life, he has suffered. He is not swayed by it.
But he does linger. And whether it be for the reason the blue stallion suspects remains to be seen. The shadow thing does not know why he stays.
Perhaps to prove that he is not a monster.
(Though wouldn’t only a monster stay only to witness the collapse?)
But the blue stallion asks him not to leave, so he doesn’t. He stays there, lurking in the shadows, watching.
“Let go,” the darkness says. It is the only help he offers. He calls back his fog until it curls sweetly into his sides and does not venture any further. It does not soothe the stallion, does not lull him back into the darkness. No, he only stands and watches.
you need a villain, give me a name
