i’ve been both a saint & a viper
The darkness that greets him is nothing like he has seen before.
It is quiet, still, and endless.
There are no voices, no demons howling their commands and rattling his brain loose, not even his own subconscious thoughts to trickle timidly to the forefront. There is simply nothing and Balto wonders if death is really this simple. The stallion fades into this state of nonexistence, where nothing is king and time no longer flows, the warmth of peace satisfying him in a way that leads him only closer; a tranquil path towards the afterlife that the shadow monster takes him down, like an old friend.
But suddenly, it is all ripped away from him.
He first feels the hardness of the forest floor beneath his body, cold and unforgiving against his aching muscles and weary bones. Then the peaceful blackness that had covered him like a blanket is torn away, shivering beneath the moonlight and attempting to scramble away like a fearful child as terror grips his chest. His darkness, his friend, betrays him. Something like anger then begins to brew, interlocking with his fear and boiling over, his fierce blue gaze snapping upwards at his Darkness, scowling as it shouts at him to wake, accusing him of being a liar.
And it’s voice is so calm, so sorrowful, that Balto’s anger only rages all the more. He had been so close - it had all been so close. But he can do nothing - he is too weak to act on this anger, too broken to do anything. Despite the betrayal that stirs up a whirlwind of emotion within the blue stallion, he struggles to stand. When he finally does and balances on spindly, creaking legs, the exasperation and disappointment are clear on his weary face.
“You lied,” he sharply retorts, repeating him with a growl in his throat, spittle spattering from his dark mouth. He can hear their feet rustling in the empty space behind the shadow beast and his eyes flicker to them, their hollow eyes staring into his and their laughing smiles contorting as jaws unhinge like a viper, low hisses and clicks leaving their dark, abysmal throats. His gaze falls back to the piercing yellow, unafraid and emboldened by the truth of his situation: “We will never rest now.”
The demons rush him, climbing up his legs and across his back, their insect-like legs pricking into his skin as they clamor and writhe. His eyes close as the feels them all around him once again, feeding on whatever is left of him. Had they been visible and real, the blue roan stallion would be painted in twisting black.
Balto
@[jamie]