Gale
idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword. innocence died screaming;
honey, ask me, I should know
He can feel the magic. It is in the lightning that burns in his veins, bright and white hot, blazing with possibility. He cannot hold it all, no matter how tightly he grips it. Always there is some seeping out, some escaping, dancing across his skin, a white hot burn along his spinal mane.
Gale’s hair is almost entirely gold now, the lightning having burnt - and healed golden - nearly every bit of his skin. It was an odd quirk of the Healing he had been born with, the changing colors of his skin as it healed. Only when he is truly and entirely golden, when every bit of his body has been replaced, he will begin to scar navy blue. The cycle has remained constant, and he rarely thinks of it.
He thinks about it now though, and the lightning along his skin intensifies as he focuses. It takes a tremendous amount of precision to excise lightning using lightning, but Gale has been practicing for years. He loses track of time (of hours, of weeks) but when he finally closes his unblinking and unfocused blue eyes, the Healing is gone.
Gale is no longer gold, but a deep and iridescent navy blue. His mane and tail are snow white, and the gold remains in the pattern of stripes along his barrel. Removing the Healing had taken the magical effects of it away, he reasons, knowing there have been far stranger side effects of destroying his abilities.
Such destruction has occupied most of his time. Following his obsession with the impenetrable nothingness, experimenting on himself was a logical extrapolation. He has unmade his abilities to utilize most of his magical gifts, and with them the temptation to use them. He has not thought much about exactly why he does this, nor of how very easy it would be to burn away the destruction and forge himself whole and unblemished.
He thinks about it now, just for a moment,and the bolt of lightning streaks through the otherwise black autumn sky. The moon and stars are buried far behind the low hanging clouds, and the blue-white bolt illuminates the world around him for far longer than lightning should.
Gale turns away from the open sky, and sets his gaze upon the woods.
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Gale
