09-06-2021, 09:43 AM
In her eternal solitude, only the shadows have given her comfort. They have no choice in the matter, of course; she pulls them to her without their permission, twisting them across her body and making them become extensions of herself. The slender darkness of her legs are feathered with the shadows she draws from, almost finger-like in the way they trail just behind her fetlocks as if they had meant to be there all along. Tendrils of her mane and forelock end in wisps of shadow; darkness coming alive as it swirls around her head like steady and silent vipers, wearing a silhouette of foreboding like a crown.
All she knows is silence; her own voice is foreign to her, save for the clicks and whistles that she associates with her monster of a mother.
The need to hunt is instilled within her - a predator through and through, undeniable in those shining eyes and the way her tail flicks pointedly to and fro - but is unsustainable. Nature had not meant for her to exist - a twist in balance, a being meant for hunting but tortured with the inability to find satisfaction in blood and bone. She had watched her mother take down prey for them, finding that it would turn sour in her gut. In this way, she learned that she is more horse than a monster but even so, the young girl still tries to prove her willingness to become what her mother’s blood demanded her to be. Her father had been barely a memory to her, though his brief passing through their lives was poignant and remains vivid somewhere in her brain. He had tried to drown her, she remembers, and now she makes sure to stay far from water, lest he is within it waiting for her to let down her guard.
The forest has been her home for quite some time. She moves between shadows, disappearing and reappearing through copses of trees that are now bare and cold, illuminated by the equally dark winter’s sky. Her wings are as black as her skin, wrinkled and heavy against her lean sides. There are no feathers that cling to the bones that are folded there, merely leathery skin would seem more like claws when outstretched from her sides. They are surprisingly soft, however; supple, smooth, and warm. Her eyes are a deep juniper - dark and listless and feral - as they scan the silent stillness, a mournful howl of a wolf somewhere close by. She shivers involuntarily and shadow spills towards her as she pulls further into the forest, drawing the darkness up beside her to stand like an ominous sentinel. The shape is undefined besides the piercing yellow eyes that remain unwavering within the depths of its shadowy body, its large form seemingly malevolent as it moves with a groan deeper into the woods, lumbering in its bearlike form.
She is alone again, but she knows she never truly is.
All she knows is silence; her own voice is foreign to her, save for the clicks and whistles that she associates with her monster of a mother.
The need to hunt is instilled within her - a predator through and through, undeniable in those shining eyes and the way her tail flicks pointedly to and fro - but is unsustainable. Nature had not meant for her to exist - a twist in balance, a being meant for hunting but tortured with the inability to find satisfaction in blood and bone. She had watched her mother take down prey for them, finding that it would turn sour in her gut. In this way, she learned that she is more horse than a monster but even so, the young girl still tries to prove her willingness to become what her mother’s blood demanded her to be. Her father had been barely a memory to her, though his brief passing through their lives was poignant and remains vivid somewhere in her brain. He had tried to drown her, she remembers, and now she makes sure to stay far from water, lest he is within it waiting for her to let down her guard.
The forest has been her home for quite some time. She moves between shadows, disappearing and reappearing through copses of trees that are now bare and cold, illuminated by the equally dark winter’s sky. Her wings are as black as her skin, wrinkled and heavy against her lean sides. There are no feathers that cling to the bones that are folded there, merely leathery skin would seem more like claws when outstretched from her sides. They are surprisingly soft, however; supple, smooth, and warm. Her eyes are a deep juniper - dark and listless and feral - as they scan the silent stillness, a mournful howl of a wolf somewhere close by. She shivers involuntarily and shadow spills towards her as she pulls further into the forest, drawing the darkness up beside her to stand like an ominous sentinel. The shape is undefined besides the piercing yellow eyes that remain unwavering within the depths of its shadowy body, its large form seemingly malevolent as it moves with a groan deeper into the woods, lumbering in its bearlike form.
She is alone again, but she knows she never truly is.
maylene
there’s a devil sitting on my shoulders
and he’s been talking to me