we scream our very souls free
There are many things Haunt has yet to know. Many experiences as foreign to Haunt as Haunt is to many. They are many things, and somehow too few. Both simple and terribly complex. The shadow has spent very little time contemplating such things however. There is too much headache, too many questions that have no answers inside those thoughts.
Still, Haunt would have to be entirely dense not to notice the ways in which they are different from everyone else. The ways in which the world does not seem to know how to box them neatly.
Not that the shadow tried terribly hard to fit. They were not made for boxes.
No, they were made for the darkness. And where the darkness touched, so too did Haunt. But there is something dangerously intriguing about that which Haunt could not touch so easily. The light might burn, but curiosity is a fickle beast, and Haunt possibly more so. So when the mare that echoes light from every surface of her body passes through, a peculiar gleam crosses yellow eyes.
Perhaps it is more than that drawing Haunt in. A shared sense of aimlessness. Or perhaps it is merely the fickle nature of the creature. The very nature causing them to refuse to examine their life too closely. Whatever the case, the electric magician gains an unexpected shadow as she passes through those haunted trees.
