02-07-2018, 11:22 AM
Like a star come morning, he allows himself to fade into her embrace. Although he is silent, the shadow-brimmed edges of his ears are alert as she speaks. Her words turn a slow, careful smile on the corner of his lips. Others may doubt her splendor, but the unreadable liquid of his eyes has no trouble seeing it. It is not just the white, bright as the moon, which splotches the chestnut base of her coat. It is her inhibition towards all things mundane of this world and the air of something otherworldly that clings to her – and calls out to him.
Khaedrik is torn into two pieces – always at war. Shadow and colt, monster and prey. This is what simmers in the darkness already shrouding his mind. It makes him twitchy and at edge, a ravenous virus that has invaded him – seeking to uproot the small sense of self he so desperately clings to. He wonders if she can sense the doubt that ravishes his body. She will not judge him for this however, he knows with a certainty not entirely his own – because she fights the very same war? He can only guess.
He continues to fade. His silence of lips and breath has meaning twofold. First, he is a child of few words, quiet as the shadows. Secondly – what he is to show her demands all his concentration. The sense of control that he is so ecstatic to taste on his tongue. He calls out to them then – a flurry of gibberish meant only to strike the cusp of waiting ears of monsters. A dark, empty voice purrs a response from somewhere in the dark, and even now it sends a shudder down the colt´s spine. He is still unused to words that are not of this world, and the harsh, foreign syllables startle him. He is unaware that she will not be able to hear them – he has learned their tongue, and so can understand, but he is out of his element nonetheless. There is a horn – a unicorn´s – long and black and anything but beautiful. Its bearer steps from the shadows, dripping with darkness, a terrible smile spread on its chafed lips. It edges closer, as if it wants to devour them but Khaedrik sneers a warning. They will not lay hand on his sister. The shadow-monster – for no other words could be used to describe such a thing – halts obediently, like a puppet on a string and his sneer turns into a haughty smile. ”See” he says to her, and there is a perilous pride in his small voice ”I can control them”
With a small motion he beckons his creation closer, and though there is anger on the unicorn´s face, cold and menacing, it once again obeys immediately. Khaedrik does not grasp their presence still, does not understand that they are mere figments of his own terrible imagination but oh, he is too enthralled with the fact that they listen to him to bother his little head with the impossibilities of their existence. How he had strained against the nightmares – strained against the magic that surrounds him – but he was young, fragile, and useless. Well, not anymore.
The shadow unicorn smiles a terrible smile – and its prickling yellow eyes glimmer as it draws closer to him, drawing with the terrible horn lines of smoke and shadow into his neck. It breathes heavily in Khaedrik´s ear, slanders the very name of mysticism as it draws more shadows onto Khaedrik´s pure, pure coat. It is a christening, malevolent and terrible. The tingling sensation of shadows against soft, soft skin presses against his neck, an all-too-tangible reminder of
”There are others, too” he croons to his sister - ”imagine what we can do with them!” and again, he turns from shadow-master to child – always seeking her approval.