every scar and bone will build my throne
'Many don't seem to like pain.' I say, rolling my tongue in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully, pensively. The idea sits just behind my eyes, like a bullet, lodged in my skull. It feels cold, like steel, penetrating my mind and then, even further. No one liked pain, it was evident the way the face controlled, the skin shivered and the bones snapped and muscles tore. No one wanted pain, well, perhaps a few sadomachists out there, which I had yet to meet. My silvery tail hits my hocks as I take a step forward, almost curious in deliberation.
'Pain builds character.' I nod, bobbing my crown ever so slightly. As if in agreement with my own statement; I had felt pain's harsh stab, perhaps not so much as some, and perhaps not even in great detail, but pain forced you to focus, to push you on and through it. I guessed that was how soldiers were made, the scars that litter their pelt, both memories and trophies, a pain that they have had to suffer to get where they are. I snort, lifting a flinty hoof and scraping at the dry earth.
'Nowhere. Nowhere sounds boring.' The smirk that forms upon my lips twists in a delicate yet sarcastic way. I am in no position to make enemies, and neither friends. I was here because my mother decided to allow me to branch out. If more than anything, it would be acquaintances and my future being paved before me in stone and iron.
My moonlit tinged ear cocks to the side, and then forward, capturing the distinctive footfalls, unhurried, slow. My amber eyes shift, behind the silver locks that fall just above them. They stare out and find the source and the smirk fades, almost sickened to my stomach. the claret that drips from the creature puddling the ground. I shake my head, the movement makes my laughter sound like a dying crescendo. 'I guess he doesn't need to worry about pain anymore.' the way the boy stares, it creeps up my spine, like spiders in the Chamber trees. As if I have walked through a nest of cobwebs and gotten a thousand tiny arachnids on me. I brush them away with my tail, to no avail, for they are not really there. The feeling is uncomfortable, and yet, yet thoroughly welcoming. I snort, flickering nostrils widening, inhaling the newcomer's scent. Salty, not like the earth of the chamber, but sweaty, damp. It clings to him like some cheap perfume.
'We have ourselves a resident Exterminator. Who are you?'
vercingetorix
killdare x engelsfors