Some things become wicked with age. Whether their mind curdles or their soul tarnishes or both, something changes them for the worse.
Not her.
She was born wrong. She is only weeks old, but there is a general air of "not right"-ness about her. An overall wrongness that bleeds from her blood red coat and swirls in the mist that coils around her legs.
She is sin, or something close to it.
Other fillies may be alarmed by him; she isn't other fillies though. Instead, she watches him, cocking her delicate skull in curiosity. He is older than her but not by much, and the same foulness that oozes from her seems to cling to him too. "Noone likes a know it all." she muses, her eyes falling to the remnants of the spider. Its mostly dust and goo, though its too-many legs still twitch in the throes of death. If she had it in her, she could feel sorry for the tiny creature. Instead, she feels nothing at all.
He speaks again, and her eyes slowly rise to the lurid green colt. His words, the threat, ooze from his mouth like toxic gas. Other fillies would surely flee back to the safety of their mothers sides, but not her. She meets his words with a sneer, her teeth flashing briefly. "You'd have to catch me first, and wings trump legs every time." she says, flaring them from her sides for added effect. "Besides, mother told me theres all kinds of monsters that live here, and most of them look normal. What if I'm a teeny tiny monster?" Her words trail off into a giggle, though there's no humor to the sound. Only an eerieness that cuts through the silence of the night.
-Sanguinista-
the moon is my sun & the night is my day...blood is my life & you are my prey
@Ghoulish