11-20-2019, 08:31 PM
Perhaps much of Draco’s devilish behavior is rooted in his deep sense of otherness. While his mother loved him dearly and his father found him to be a favorite, the demon knows too well how different he is from his siblings. He and Dove were not random nights of passion, nor were they woven together by family—they were something entirely different, something secretive and tense and unyielding.
It is within his outcast view that he remains staunchly alone. The ground he stands upon is far different from his siblings. They may walk not knowing their father, or walk totally comforted by their mother, but Draco struts in his uncertainty. He would rather die than let those around him know of his hurt and confusion. His bitterness and depression turn to rage and anarchy, especially when eyes of understanding are met with his.
Let them suffer, he thinks, red eyes cast to the graying sky above. I am above that.
Speaking of the suffering of others . . . Draco just barely catches the failed chase of a rabbit. Brilliant red eyes flash with excitement, and then suddenly, they fall with disappointment. He cocks his head to the left and then to the right, reaching out with the fingers of his magic to touch her thoughts. There is not much there beyond the thoughts of the chase, and just when he thinks he wants to turn back, a thunderclap sounds above. The unease that seeps through the wolfmare’s mind catches Draco as he turns away.
This—anxiety, fear, panic, whatever—he can work with.
Draco should have picked up on Dreamscar’s thoughts before the colt made himself known, but he was feeling so introspective that the monotone boy’s arrival startles him. He jumps then checks his surroundings to ensure no one saw his moment of vulnerability.
His angry embarrassment evaporates the moment he drops in on the hippogiff’s thoughts. Predatory, lacking . . . fascinating . . . Draco has yet to encounter one like him. A smile glows white against his black lips. There is potential—but for what, the demon has not quite figured out.
Dreamscar returns to his perch, ultimately drawing the constellation dappled boy from his quiet spot. The glow of his eyes reaches for the half-creature, desperate to feel if the boy is vulnerable to his powers. He then drags his gaze to Meiilyn, dimming that fear-shine just enough to smile and make introductions.
“Afternoon,” he murmurs, deciding on a whim to be charming. He is about to murmur something else when he notices the eviscerated rabbit’s dancing just beyond the wolfmare’s hindquarters. “Hmm . . .” he murmurs, only feeling apprehension because he does not understand. Entrails do not phase him.
“Do you see that?” he finally asks, a faked half-smile on his lips.
omg so many lovely replies!
@[Meiilyn] @[Set] @[Dreamscar]
It is within his outcast view that he remains staunchly alone. The ground he stands upon is far different from his siblings. They may walk not knowing their father, or walk totally comforted by their mother, but Draco struts in his uncertainty. He would rather die than let those around him know of his hurt and confusion. His bitterness and depression turn to rage and anarchy, especially when eyes of understanding are met with his.
Let them suffer, he thinks, red eyes cast to the graying sky above. I am above that.
Speaking of the suffering of others . . . Draco just barely catches the failed chase of a rabbit. Brilliant red eyes flash with excitement, and then suddenly, they fall with disappointment. He cocks his head to the left and then to the right, reaching out with the fingers of his magic to touch her thoughts. There is not much there beyond the thoughts of the chase, and just when he thinks he wants to turn back, a thunderclap sounds above. The unease that seeps through the wolfmare’s mind catches Draco as he turns away.
This—anxiety, fear, panic, whatever—he can work with.
Draco should have picked up on Dreamscar’s thoughts before the colt made himself known, but he was feeling so introspective that the monotone boy’s arrival startles him. He jumps then checks his surroundings to ensure no one saw his moment of vulnerability.
His angry embarrassment evaporates the moment he drops in on the hippogiff’s thoughts. Predatory, lacking . . . fascinating . . . Draco has yet to encounter one like him. A smile glows white against his black lips. There is potential—but for what, the demon has not quite figured out.
Dreamscar returns to his perch, ultimately drawing the constellation dappled boy from his quiet spot. The glow of his eyes reaches for the half-creature, desperate to feel if the boy is vulnerable to his powers. He then drags his gaze to Meiilyn, dimming that fear-shine just enough to smile and make introductions.
“Afternoon,” he murmurs, deciding on a whim to be charming. He is about to murmur something else when he notices the eviscerated rabbit’s dancing just beyond the wolfmare’s hindquarters. “Hmm . . .” he murmurs, only feeling apprehension because he does not understand. Entrails do not phase him.
“Do you see that?” he finally asks, a faked half-smile on his lips.
omg so many lovely replies!
@[Meiilyn] @[Set] @[Dreamscar]
hitch a ride on my violence