The sudden twist of his crown is unexpected and a high sound of outrage and surprise breaks from her snarling lips, his weight heavy and his height undeniable even to the arrogant and mad bitch caught in his grasp. Her eyes train upon his own, even as pain arcs down her neck and through her flesh at the pressure he exerts on her, stubbornly refusing to hold her own weight; sick and weak as the man is, no amount of rage will allow him to hold her there for long, and she knows this.

He starts talking as he leans in, his voice masculine and strong despite the decay that mars his figure, and in another display of stubbornness she finally gathers her weight well enough to push her own crown against his, the ring of their horns grating against one another loud and obvious in the echoing cavern against the song that slips from his lips.

She even laughs as the reasoning for his anger is released into the frosty air, her giggles high and deranged as she curves and bends against the pressure he exerts on her crown, his desire to subjugate her to his will. She is no stranger to domination, for she is the mistress with the whip! Her giggles drown out in the sound of a snarling howl, the mare pulling her weight up and higher, high as her pliable neck will bend, forelimbs flashing in front of her angrily that he thinks he can own her so easily.

"Your filth is touching me!" she shrills, panting with disgust as she writhes against his weight, refusing to unlock their horns as she glares with molten eyes at the empty spaces in his mask.

There are no eyes looking back at her, only wrinkled folds, a milky slit.

Resolve steadies her panic at being so near the infection, close enough to feel the sickly heat of its stench pressing against her flesh. He cannot see and therefore is even more punitive than she had initially believed, not only arrogant and stupid enough to get so devastatingly ravaged but dumb enough to pick a fight with a healthy, vision capable fiend such as the ivory damsel of dismay.

Her lips curl into a smile, a tittering and horrid sound much like a gurgle emerging from the mad laughter that breaks from her twisted and strained throat. Wrenching herself backward in a sudden motion and to the freedom he so desired her to lunge for, she bends her small body as if to lay her horn across her own back with fore hooves still splayed in the cold air between their frames; just as suddenly she uncoils, a gleaming white spring of outrage as she leaps away from him, pivoting to reface the stallion from where she hopes is a good enough distance to dodge his blind jabs. He may get a good lick in on her ass as she lunges by, but she doesn’t mind; her scars are white, white as her flesh. She will always be perfect.

"Only stones, didn’t hurt your bones," she nearly sings, child like voice cruel and sinister in the ring of their hooves and horns, crown low and snaking, her ears flat and sharp against her poll, "colt of a man. I’ve seen rabbits more brazen, jesters more wise."

She giggles, prancing now, unable to stay still with the energy that rushes through her, the stench of his musk blending with the noxious odor of decay, her own fear and rage asphyxiating in its hormonal pull. "If you’ve the strength to fight me now why pretend you are dying?"

"Why would you trick me so? I should want revenge. I only wanted you to die, you sniveling baby. Quite willing to oblige until the fearsome rocks touched you!"




Beloved
rust every place that I touch