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When there is darkness everywhere, how do you tell a pure soul apart from a tainted one?
You take risks. You dare to take the leap, not knowing if the cliff lands a thousand feet below you or three. The hellion's soul is black, darker than the dead of night, darker than the everlasting shadow that is the world. One, oblivious to reality, might think she could "sense" a kindred soul and be immediately drawn to him or her. It's true a woman's intuition proves reliable; it's also true a man is not equipped with this- but there are some things one simply cannot tell from looking at a horse. After all, a wolf cannot look from the right side of a deer and see the scars on the left side.
Confutatis laughs, a deep laugh imbued with her- it rings with her darkness and uncaring and utter contempt for so many, as if her soul has been briefly thrown into the air, rippling like a flag for all to see. The name is not creative, yet it is a good name for the time being. It is not long, nor short, nor fancy or eloquent; it is simple. She enjoys it- Skullface- letting it dance in her mind, filling her head with images of what she is in all her mangled glory. "Perhaps I should call you Snow King, but a little too common for you?" Her fractured mind runs, sifting through the explainable corridors of her twisted mind. "Fallen," The hellion murmurs, enjoying the way it rolls off her tongue. "For you are a prince from a kingdom far away, no? Driven from your lands, sent off to roam, fallen from grace... how magnificent and melodramatic." Of course she is not serious- the sly smile on her lips says she does not mean a word.
The harlot's face hardens, amber eye darkening. "We are fish flooding a stream too small. Sooner than later, a bear will come to hook his claws and kill us all." Death awaits them. It is inevitable. "But there will always be a survivor. The gods fashioned us to survive, to adapt. How do you know that squirrels are simply fish without scales or fins?"
"I must say, it is a romantic notion- perhaps the stars finally had their dreams come true, and came to kiss the trees good night. They simply forgot to make it morning again- although what sounds better than an endless night with a boy of your dreams?" What may have been flirtatious was not in her voice- her tone hard, even with the eyes of a vixen in her face.
CONFUTATIS
and when you meet me, you at long last acquaintance yourself with death in all its magnificent glory.
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