[open] sitting pretty in the prime of life

[Obscene]

I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me

He wasn’t sure what he had become.

Fae definitely. But this thing inside of him, this uncontrollable serpent who only had a mind for venom and hunger and anger, he’s not sure if it’s part of it or something else entirely. He had withdrawn into himself for a few days after his time in the storm with Revelrie. When he had become the serpent and lost all sense of self. He hadn’t known who he was, had not recognized anyone familiar, and anyone unlucky enough to meet the giant black snake instantly regretted it.

When he had awoken the next day, there had been blood staining his lips and crimson splatter mingled in the dark fur and glittery gold of his coat. He had no idea what he had consumed but had felt sick for the rest of the day, his equine stomach unused to the digestion of meat and bone. He had told no-one what he had become, another dirty little secret that he hid in the cold refines of himself, and tried to pretend that it was nothing. Only Revelrie had seen the monster he could become and he intended it to stay that way. It was bad enough that she knew, that anyone knew.

Of course denial was only delaying the inevitable. For in his dreams he knew that the snake would continue to get stronger, that the shifting would happen randomly until he was completely and utterly unable to get back to who he truly was and become the true villain he had always thought himself to be. He was immortal now, if the snake was killed would he die too? Unhappily he pushes those thoughts away.

Into the Forest he goes, unable to think clearly in the heat and avoiding the company of the few that might want it. It is a dark mood that follows the black stallion like a storm cloud. So it is no scraps of kindness that he throws to her when he finds her.

A mare has started to edge herself into the crystal waters of the creek. Dirt pools around her hocks and his red gaze lingers on the tangled strands of her mane that’s begun to look like a birds nest, the derelict state of her coat covered in mud. Perhaps beneath all that muck and mire she might be pretty. However his mood isn’t nice enough to acknowledge that, all he wants is to unleash his frustration, fear, and dismay. It’s easy enough to escape into the biting armor he’s built within himself and launch cruel words at her, an innocent merely minding her business. “You’re dirtying the drinking water peasant.” He gives her one of his famous sneers, glaring at her from the other side of the bank. Long pointed ears begin to fold back but refuse to become hidden in the fine raven strands of his forelock.

Looking between the two of them (her a dirty vagabond and he with his immortal handsomeness), it’s almost a case of the Prince and the pauper. A voice in his head reminds him that once he too was a sad lonely mortal, lost and alone, and perhaps he should be kinder. He kicks that thought out of his mind with a hard boot and only narrows his gaze of distaste on her. “Do you like drinking mud? Perhaps you should have a taste.” That impish spark is back in his eye as the predator in him hones in on new prey.  Could he get her to consume the foul dirt using his wit and wiles? He thinks he would like to try just to see how far he might be able to push her. In any case it's a distraction and already the worry on his mind seems to lighten just a little.

obscene

@Djuna