scarred and broken, we stand proud

Living for months in silence, he dares not speak, only growl when one approaches. He is a demon now, a monster created from his horrific past. The anger and torment that bubbles and brews within is strong, and he often finds himself biting at his legs, or drawing his horns across his sides to create purposeful wounds. It was his only way of relief, his body covered in fresh wounds in a small patch by his tail, wide and deep from the point of his left horn. He stands in the forest, snorting madly as crimson drips from the wounds, finding it filling him with pleasure. The rush of blood as it drips down his skin, a warm, vibrant liquid.

He simply stands, head bent to watch the blood stain the damp ground beneath him. He watches small drops of his life, his spirit, his soul, fly away free. He pities himself, for being stuck in this world while those little flecks of his soul get to run free, no longer tied to this pathetic body. His muscles flex and ripple under his rust fur, his tangled hair falling over his thick neck. His green eyes were darker now, no longer beautiful and full of life as they had been, back when he was a whole different person. A joyful soul, who was able to push past what had happened to him before he found Helovia. He was able to frolic with Her in peace, his past never coming to haunt him in the daylight.

Her—

She was once his everything, now She was nothing to him. She was once his goddess, he hailed Her, he was faithful to Her, a loyal companion who followed Her wherever She went. He protected Her. He kept Her safe. But that one night where he lays by Her and is stolen in the night by bandits looking for slaves to sell. She had thought he meant to leave Her. It was never his intention. He tried— he tried. He never meant to lose Her... never did he want to.. but it was all just a big misunderstanding.

He didn't want to leave..

Hunching over he breathes heavily into the ground between his hooves, chest expanding as he takes in deep breathes, trying to calm himself. He would not shed a tear. Crying is for the weak, and he was no longer weak. Now he was a beast. And beasts do not weep. They do not cry for their enemies, they do not love, they do not place pity upon their victims. They kill relentlessly, they stalk in the shadows, they are beasts, outcasts from society.

And that is just what he is, an outcast from society. He always has been, and always will be. It used to make him cry thinking about it, how he was different than the rest, how he was alone in this world. But now he simply does not care, and never again will he. Maybe one day society will accept him only out of fear that he will slaughter them, not out of pity as he stands in the cold rain, watching over them as they continue on with their pitiful lives.

"growl grumble roar"
@[Hotaru] <3