Molech
Loneliness, the young stallion decides, will certainly be the death of him.
If anything were to take him, it would be desolation. However, he does not plan on allowing the solitude of the forest to steal his breath - instead, he will take any and all as his company. The gentler, the meeker, the better. He always seeks out a certain type; ones that are malleable and swallow his lies as if near starvation. Those were the ones he enjoyed the most, for even though the process is much slower, it is all the more satisfying when they succumb to his wishes (that they have been lead to believe are theirs). Some are not that way, of course, but he will find other uses for them. He would much rather have them bend to his requests willingly and with undying loyalty, but as he grows older, he realizes that there might not be anything that would make him hesitate to use force.
There is Clementia (his dear, sweet, Clementia) and then Aero, but he finds that their company, however pleasant and soothing, is not enough. Especially as he wanders the forest alone, feeling the dark tendrils of night beginning to weave in between the silent, judging trees.
There is a steady chill that presses in tightly to the evergreen, gold, and ivory of the patched stallion. His tri-colored wings are kept close to his sides, warming the skin beneath their downy feathers. Molech looks as young as he is; his legs are still long and lean, his golden mane not yet looking full and appearing somewhat gangly as a colt would normally. There is no questioning his handsomeness though, despite his youth. Perhaps it all comes down to those pastel lavender eyes that seem almost out of place.
His tongue - black, thin, and forked - slips out of his golden lips thoughtlessly, tasting the cold of the autumn air before it disappears back into his mouth. His lips twitch as he walks rather unhurriedly, coming to an unbothered halt just as the last few colors of dusk begin to retreat into darkness.
If anything were to take him, it would be desolation. However, he does not plan on allowing the solitude of the forest to steal his breath - instead, he will take any and all as his company. The gentler, the meeker, the better. He always seeks out a certain type; ones that are malleable and swallow his lies as if near starvation. Those were the ones he enjoyed the most, for even though the process is much slower, it is all the more satisfying when they succumb to his wishes (that they have been lead to believe are theirs). Some are not that way, of course, but he will find other uses for them. He would much rather have them bend to his requests willingly and with undying loyalty, but as he grows older, he realizes that there might not be anything that would make him hesitate to use force.
There is Clementia (his dear, sweet, Clementia) and then Aero, but he finds that their company, however pleasant and soothing, is not enough. Especially as he wanders the forest alone, feeling the dark tendrils of night beginning to weave in between the silent, judging trees.
There is a steady chill that presses in tightly to the evergreen, gold, and ivory of the patched stallion. His tri-colored wings are kept close to his sides, warming the skin beneath their downy feathers. Molech looks as young as he is; his legs are still long and lean, his golden mane not yet looking full and appearing somewhat gangly as a colt would normally. There is no questioning his handsomeness though, despite his youth. Perhaps it all comes down to those pastel lavender eyes that seem almost out of place.
His tongue - black, thin, and forked - slips out of his golden lips thoughtlessly, tasting the cold of the autumn air before it disappears back into his mouth. His lips twitch as he walks rather unhurriedly, coming to an unbothered halt just as the last few colors of dusk begin to retreat into darkness.
YOUR PRECIOUS LIGHT IS FADING
@[phaetra]