She is a ghostly presence. Her aura is one of coldness and brutality, but calm and surreal. It is the cold air that lingers before the downpour of a storm. Smother has always been the tension in every conversation, the eeriness in every dark meeting, and the unknown variable in every experiment. Her unpredictability is the only thing truly predictable about her; if she is anything, if she can be explained as anything, it is that her personality is unforgivably impulsive.
Her eyes are snake-like, mostly because she decided to “half-shift” in a way that allowed her to keep full horse form but have the decoration of lines for eyes. They are set on two bodies both radiating heat in yellow, orange, coral, and sky tones. They are emitting warmth that appears vibrant in her sight, and part of her wishes she could circle her body along their frame and hear the soft crumble of bones shatter beneath her suffocation. However, there is a time and place for such actions.
Not, for example, among viewing eyes.
With an adjustment in her shift, she rids of her snake-like iris’s and replace them with her typical crystal blue eyes. Judgment is laced within her stare, and she watches their cautious—for lack of a better term—introduction. It would always be apparent that unlike her usual belligerent way of communication, others tend to side with a softer form of socializing. Her voice tends to be bold and vivacious, while most other equines were husky and light.
She views the man and feels his sadness waft into the air like a pungent smell polluting the earth. His body is intoxicating, so fragile and weak. Seeing him is like fixing a high long overdue. He is her heroine that she needs to fill her veins. He provides this sense of power to her, this feel of strength that she so seldomly has felt. While the female, well… she is irrelevant.
The female is unmistakably swooned. Her softness, her politeness, the way she carried herself to meet him and the way she holds herself even now. Smother has always been a watchful eye, has always found her talent in analyzing—while they appear to be lost in their own conversation they are unfortunately playing a sickening reality show.
Smother finds herself wafting to the presence of the duo, seeming to want to entangle herself in the aura of the male, wrap herself in his impression and fix the high he is so willing to feed. She is in so many ways the python she has become.
Her arrival is cool and quiet. To them she must appear psychotic; the heavy weight of a python looped four times around her neck with his snoozing head resting just behind her withers. The tattoo of the jungle, two swords indulged in the body of two snakes curling up their handle placed elegantly along her chest and branching as low as her front hooves. Her mane is a windblown mess of tangles and knots, her two toned chocolate brown and porcelain white frame overwhelmingly clean.
“If you were broken, why wouldn’t you wait until you were healed to return?” A condescending tone lifts from her tongue like native language, Smother would always be better at negativity; she was born this way. Not a choice, but yet a consequence of her written history.
A history she didn’t get to write herself, but was written for her.
Hope it's alright I jumped into this thread
