She is all smiles and innocence, a purity I was never born with. Her lips curl and her delicate little head is tossed as the words find their way from her lips— poised and pretty, fit for the rich and royal. "I've always been a quick learner." This was, in some parts, very true. I picked up on things, observed quietly and took note of what seemed important. As a much younger child I was careful to pick apart each detail, to analyze all that I could take in with my curious bubblegum eyes and open mind— Mother sought to mold me to her liking, fitting me to be her dream child (she failed), using my need to know to her advantage. I wanted the knowledge that came with life, the possibilities of power and strength that could be gained through hard work (I will find ways around that).

"And I never said scary either." My eyes focus on her as she speaks, careful not to interrupt her as she rambles about the way a monster becomes a monster and the mystery hidden behind those hideous faces. I wasn't a monster nor hideous, but a child who was still too young to have any importance in the world, to leave any spilled blood or wicked lies in my tracks— I would never be that blood thirsty, lusting after the destruction of innocent lives (or even guilty ones), I would never be responsible for taking a life. I have morals (surprisingly). "It's all a matter of how you are raised, of your environment and understanding. It varies on your parents as well, and your own actions, on the outcome of those actions. We both could have turned out very different, and we still could. We are constantly changing."

I shrug my shoulders at the end, an act of carelessness displayed in the rise and fall of scarred tissue. It is her choice to decide whether she agrees with what I've said or to call it foolish or irrational— whatever she decides, it won't move me into changing my opinion.

So she prances on petite hooves and I follow, calmer and less energetic despite the movement of my ears and darting of my eyes, black tail slapping against my thighs every few steps. The precious babe tip toes her way through the field, so careless in the way she dances past the flowers and grins childishly (she is a child after all). Bones. She tells me that she'll call me Bones rather than Kid, rather than boy or child— she tosses aside my meaningless name and offers me a new one, far more interesting than my own (seriously, Kid?). Bones provides the mystery I need, the strength of a new title— it's nothing of permanence, a simply temporary name provided by a child who seeks to call me something new (something better). "Bones it is then."

Bones and Fawn, a new comedic duo consisting of a petite filly with the features of a fawn and a shithead skull kid who has parent problems. Sounds great. Names are powerful things. That they are Fawn, that they are— perhaps a new name should be offered rather than Kid, a special name for all the acquaintances I make on my journey to kinghood. "Do you have a title in mind for yourself?" My ears swivel forward as I watch her scan the fields with burning irises, taking between her lips a pink and white flower (how coincidental), approaching me with her neck outstretched. I duck down and let her put the flower in my hair, a subtle smile growing as I straighten out and the flower settles into the black of my mane— pretty. "How do I look?" I stand valiantly before her, showing off the delicate flora nestled in my mess of a mane (I do comb it, but I'm trying to make it look a little unkempt). "And what about you? How about... uh..." I look around us for the perfect candidate, spying a blooming white flower that calls out for attention— yes that'll do. I pick it up and offer it towards the filly, an equivalent exchange. A flower for me, a flower for you. I reach towards her with it, seeking to tuck it behind her curiously shaped ears and let it reside there among the chestnut locks.  

"Talk."

kid

run my reputation.