He was certainly built of fire, you think to yourself. Bursting everywhere, throwing his limbs in a display of cocky, boyish energy you find yourself attracted to, a dull little moth fluttering hesitantly around a vibrant, explosive flame. He’s pretty large, too, with all the legs he has. And it seems as though he screams at the poor birds fluttering from the trees with victory, as though he achieved something that escapes you.

Onei peeps loudly. He says obediently upon your rump, and yet he flaps some himself, immersed in the display wrought by the boy. You yourself are compelled to stay, now, especially since he comes to look at you. Hmm, but what’s this? This is interesting, but there’s something annoying you—ah, yes, the fact that he realizes you are here, that your presence jerks into his vision instead of bleeding into it naturally and immediately. He should’ve noticed you before you arrived; he should’ve picked up your scent, your gorgeous golden eyes, and should’ve awaited your presence, laying prostrate as you walked towards him—as you deigned to walk toward him—

It’s something you didn’t know you needed until this moment. It’s an awakening in your breast, something stirring out of the dull boredom that dominates your core. It is a greed, a need to be—beheld.

You give him your most glittery eyes, so that he knows what he’s missed. You smile at him—but not too much of a smile, it’s a quiet one, it’s intrigued and satiny upon your dark lips. It’s becoming automatic now, this shift into a mask, whatever mask is appropriate for the time. Whatever mask is most fitting, whatever will capture the most interest, whatever will make them gaze at a glowingness in your—

"My mother has a bird companion. Gwahir."

Goddammit.

You give your most sparkly self—and yet his eyes fall onto the fluttering pale puff on your rump that is Onei. Is this boy blind? Not that Onei is ugly or lesser—he’s certainly a piece of your soul, so maybe this boy’s interest in him speaks of deeper things that he notices? Except you do not want that. You want him to melt at the sight of you. You want something shallow, because that’s easier to create, and control.

“Oh,” you respond delicately, because you do not know how to respond to that. You don’t care if his mother has a bird companion. You don’t know who she is, and why she should matter. And you’re upset he’s not looking into your beautiful, beautiful eyes—so it’s hard to play along, to play interesting when someone’s not interested. “They’re nice,” you try to build a conversation, “My…I’ve known lots of people with bird companions, I’ve always loved them.” My father has two harpies, my sister has her own eagle. But you cannot speak of a Father that is dead, and you keep your sister hidden for now. You’re selfish like that.

Your selfishness also manifests in the appearance of another, one who is female now, and ugly. You look to the approaching figure with mild eyes, gazing at the bone marking on her face—this seems to be a trend, and an ugly one, or perhaps there is a serial rapist flying about the earth with bones marked all over his hide—and weird pale eyes that do not have a color and sit strikingly upon an otherwise dark body. If it weren’t for the markings of her face, this girl would’ve been pretty, or at least acceptable. You suppress a sigh, bracing yourself to share company with this girl and the two shadows that follow her—

Oh dear.

Oh yes, oh yes little Enyo, those are wolves. Great black canine creatures with twitching noses and eyes shifting from place to place. You feel your heart quicken and Onei chirps in curiosity. That fear is back, that shame settles on your shoulders again. And here is this little girl (who isn’t so little), not only able to conquer a wolf, but to tame one. No, two. She tamed two wolves. You decide, right then and there, that you dislike this girl. You cannot stand it. You smile at her too, just as satiny and demure, and you do not like this girl.

They speak—to each other, ignoring you for a second, which is completely unacceptable. And they are using words you do not understand, which gets you livid, which makes your eyes widen with curiosity and interest. “Is that another language?” You are interested, truthfully, as much as you are furious. You’re always compelled to learn something new, and this is the ultimate of things, another tongue that one can speak, and still be understood. And like everything else you are ignorant to—you want it.

"How did you get your companions?” asks the boy of fire.

I simply stumbled upon mine, is the natural answer. But it tastes like ash in your mouth, to admit that you do not deserve the brilliant little bundle on your back. So you scuff your hoof and avert your eyes a little, looking for the right spices to make the story better. “His egg… it was abandoned, see,” you start, and you revel in the truth that you’re able to make tastier, “I found it in the snow, I don’t know how long it had sat cold. So I laid on it, or around it, and hoped that whatever was inside wasn’t…hadn’t…” Ah, there’s the lie now. But that’s okay. How would he know?

You smile back at Onei, who peeps just in time with affection. “And he hadn’t,” you finish grandly.

talk talk talk