I am a wild man
& i dont need to explain myself to the likes of you
He had not realized it, but his magic had slipped away. The man's head slowly rises from the foal, and he gives the cream creature a soft, reassuring smile, he already knew that when his goldens had shifted away from the innocence at his feet, that he was going to peer into pale anger. He is not wrong as Enna's expression is that of venom, of hate, and he is surprised and not at the same time. A woman that had once so tenderly looked at him, now looked at him with so much disgust it was almost degrading. But, that almost was the difference between Miseal sulking away and Miseal standing his ground. Never had he ever, touched Enna, never would he, but he also had never stood his ground, not in the eyes of the broken Enna. He had always made excuses for her actions, had always placed the blame on himself, things had changed; and so had he. He would take this no longer. Yes, she had been broken, shattered even, but so had he, so had others. Everyone cracked, everyone had that moment. Hers was no different. This was the last thing he would do for Enna, and it was to show her to get. the. fuck. over. it.
Or so he thought he would.
She lunges at him then, how foolish. She had an anger so blinding that she had forget to open her eyes and look. She had forgotten the height, the strength, the power that ran hot in his veins now. She was nothing to him. A dark smirk encompasses his towering, looming mass. Their love hate was monstrous. It was so full of regret, of guilt, of pain, that it twisted and clawed it's way into your skin until your blood ran cold, until the light in your eyes was lethal. Their hate was monstrous, and it made monsters out of both of them. He let his low, ravenous, chuckle out in the night as he watches with pleasure, as she surges to him with all of her nothingness.
You loved her once.
Not anymore. He thinks, as her tines cause warmth to seep down his chest. He does not care for the pain, does not even register the blood that stained his coat and dripped onto the ground and his golden hooves. It wasn't the entrance of her horns that hurt, it wasn't even the blood on his chest that hurt, it was the separation that killed. She backed away then, and a groan released from his breath as the blood no longer seeped but poured, his golden's full of pain, of hurt, of disbelief. He kept his gaze locked with hers as the black stag runs to be the prince in shining, onyx armor. The beast lets the prince back him away, but it was only because he let him. This little prince does not understand the monster that lay brooding under his thick, striped skin. He allows the boy a chance, for he is only acting out of protection and Miseal understands this, the pain of Enna's horns finally blooming in his head.
She is not worth all this pain.
Miseal blinks at the man's expressions, really caring quite less as his mind is only on the stinging, throbbing, burning pain in his chest(was it her horns or his heart?) Miseal focuses then, glaring at the boy with all of his blazing might, seeing right through the rage in prince's orbs, "You better watch out boy, for not all men in this world know restraint. I will not fight a mere child, you should take your decisions into much more consideration, or you'll end up far worse then hurt." He said, not laying a single hoof on the boy, despite the raging desire to destroy.
It was then that Miseal glances at Enna, his face set in soft, kind, wise lines. He looked so much older then, the journey of heartbreak, of fatherhood, turning a boy man. Perhaps the pure pain that haunted him was not hidden by his facade, but he offers a small smile, "Goodbye my dear, my hate, love" He whispers then, fading away from their sight until only the puddle of his blood lay crimson in the oh so black and white world.
He steps in that puddle while invisible, let's the blood mold around his hooves until he was sure the perfect print would be crafted. He was so close, so close to placing that bloodied print on the boy, but he would not allow him to again be the soiler of innocence. So with a fuzzy, pained mind, he walks away, the tracks of crimson hooves and drippings of blood the last of his regrets as he bleeds them out on the ground of the icy fortress, leaving that maiden that would forever be memorized as nothing but a mistake.
Goodbye, my beauitful mistake.
OCC: no words.
words words words
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