jamie
from the destruction, out of the flame
He feels no remorse, Jamie.
This battle is not his.
And he would have helped if he had not been lied to. They could have both been saved. Spared their shared misery.
No, it is not remorse the shadow thing feels when the stallion succumbs to his demons. It is some strange misery. A wailing sorrow that blooms and bursts in the cavern of his deep black chest. The sound of it echoes in his head, even if he does not open his mouth to let it loose.
It is grief. A great, yawning chasm that opens up at the very center of him.
He should not have come here, the shadow thing. He should never have been drawn to the blue stallion who looks at him now, unblinking. And the voice is clear when he speaks next. Strong in its sinister nature.
This is who the blue stallion really is.
Or should be, the shadow thing thinks.
But he remembers still the desperate sounds he had made. He remembers the desperation. The dark heart twitches and spasms. He lets loose his own mournful sound. And he sinks closer and he touches the stallion with his dark mouth, but neither of them feel it. They are both gone now.
Still, he touches him and he sighs. And he closes those freakish yellow eyes and huffs out a cold breath. And even when he drifts away again, the fog still curls itself sweetly through the blue stallion’s legs. Kisses him so tenderly. And the shadow thing tilts its peculiar head and blinks at him baleful.
“He wouldn’t let me help him.” Whispers it into the space between them. All heartbreak. Whispers it to whatever dark thing the blue stallion has succumbed to. “I tried,” he says, wheezes, rasps. It makes his knees weak, the weight of all of his grief. “I tried to help him.”
you need a villain, give me a name
