i’ve been both a saint & a viper
I’ll never stop.
Somewhere, deep within the recesses of his hollow chest where a pulse faintly beats, his heart breaks. It breaks for her naivety, for her hopefulness - for once, not so long ago, he had thought the very same thing. He’d run from them - those sinister voices, the demons that only he can feel and hear and see - and one day he could be at peace. He only had to be strong enough, brave enough, good enough. But nothing could erase the terrors he had done and nothing could wipe their ghoulish voices from his mind.
Even when he closes his eyes, he still sees the cavern bathed in their blood, standing knee deep in their organs.
Perhaps she is right, though. She may never stop.
That is fine, for he will never stop chasing her.
It has already been set in motion and upon reaching her, he doesn't know what will occur. All he knows is that his stomach feels so empty, so cold, as if he is nothing but metal on the inside and the warmth of her, of her skin, of her blood would ease the ache. It could be a balm to his parched throat, like honey against the iron in his soul.
The shadows of night allow only the faintest outline of her silhouette, trembling in the darkness. He snorts sharply, slowing his pace, as he realizes that she has already broken the mantra she had whispered into the wind only moments ago. The sharpness of his face remains expressionless but there is something glistening in the depths of his icy stare - something out of place on such an ugly, brutal creature. She touches him lightly, brushing her mouth against the roughness of his dark, stretched skin and his breath rattles, catching in his throat. Dark lids fall across those pale eyes, mouth agape, as the sweet scent of her already clotting wounds become more aromatic than ever.
She had chosen him - this harbinger of death and nightmares - and, like they all will eventually, stopped running.
There is only a brief passing of seconds until he realizes the true reason she had turned to him. With a loud chuff, the stallion’s eyes flash open, meeting the shape of the monster that attempts to hide within the shadows. Balto’s ears pin, not unfamiliar with the atrocities that haunt these woods, and a low hiss slithers from the beast’s mouth. The stallion lowers his antlered head as it lurks closer to them with gnashing teeth.
With something like a roar, Balto leaps forward to catch the boar-like figure with the spindles of antlers that branch from his forehead. It is heavy and though he pierces it (shadow, flesh?), the stallion falls to his knees with the weight and writhing of it. The two tussle for a moment but it quickly passes, leaving the stallion standing over a bloodied heap with a frown.
“You stopped,” he rasps, lowering his head to inspect the creature, paper-thin nostrils sniffing at its corpse. He lifts his thin neck, turning his face over his shoulder to look at her, his frown only deepening at the realization that the smell of the dead beast did nothing to curb the appetite that aches in his bones. He follows the turn of his head, coming to stand before her with something sticky and dark plastered to his face and antlers - something like blood, but from those monsters, it could be anything. “Do you see now?” He begins, brushing the roughness of his mouth against her wounded cheek, tasting the blood there with a kiss. He groans, furrowing his brow as he grimaces, finding some kind of understanding in the hunger that seems to bury him.
He traces her jawline, then her neck, reveling in the mottled blue that reminds him so much of himself. “There’s no point in running.”
Balto
@dark