KIROTTU
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Such was the life of privilege the stallion had known before, this tortured sense of unease was new to him - even though he strode with faux confidence and exuded nothing more but a deft co-ordination of the smooth, elongated dance they weaved, he was increasingly growing more paranoid, more worried and concerned that the mask he wore in this brilliant bodice would fall. He tried, again and again to forget it, for just a moment, to share in this blissful display of joy and energy transpiring into -what? What would become of this meeting? Would he ever see this maiden again? Would she yearn to call upon him as a friend? What if he ever felt a need to defend her beauty from a cruel hand? What if she was struck down during the day, when he was hidden away in his dark cavern of despair and depression, disabled from normal action by the crippling curse for which he was named? Again and again he pushed them away, forever throwing glances to her, forever forgetting to wipe the frown from his façade away to reveal only the true wonder he felt at her presence. Surely he could focus upon her beauty, her laughter, the name she gave him - Lena - surely for just a few delightful moments, he could forget his affliction, and simply exist?

It was not to be so, for even as the clouds of doubt settled behind his violet eyes, he heard his demeaning accursed inner voice falsify everything she did, everything she said. And of course, she longs to hear my name, she longs to learn more of me, and what would she do if I allowed that to happen? Run from me, as so many others had? Laugh and mock me, for this affliction that wretched creature placed upon me? The stallion tried, truly he did, to hold onto the enthusiasm that he had found filling his strides before, he flattened his ears in a display of the inner war that took place upon him. He could not be blamed for missing that the mare carried a weight of her own upon her slender shoulders - he was too focussed upon himself for that, too selfish and introverted, and hardly perceptive or caring enough of others to recognise a silent, genuine plea for company when he saw it. All he saw were the lies that his mind orchestrated, the harsh glares, the misinterpreted words that dripped from others' lips. He struggled, once again, to place the smile upon his pewter muzzle, to continue on this dance they had begun, to cling to whatever happiness he could, while he could.

"Kiro!" The tones that replied were rich in volume and portrayed none of the battle that was waged behind the violet eyes. She means well, she means well, he repeated to himself, grinding his teeth behind the chiselled cheekbones with a determination to believe those words. He kept his full title to himself - he was ashamed that his name had become a joke among his people, the cursed one, a joke that he happily participated in - until the time came when he truly became the cursed one. During the day, he was Beast, but at night, he was Kiro - perhaps one day he would be blessed enough to rid himself of both names entirely, to start anew. Muscles flexed and relaxed in a complex display of motion as the elegant step he wove brought him closer to her dark hide once more, his intentions were to allow himself a better view of her - the curve of her smile, the light behind her eyes, the dark tendrils of mane that framed the carefully carved façade from a pelt of shimmering mahogany hues. She was beautiful, he realised all over again, and he felt a pang of longing enter him - followed swiftly by a bitter thought. Why couldn't she have been presented to me as a choice for mate, instead of that witch?

It cascaded into another jumble of thoughts and dark emotions, of distraction that led to his ears swaying down to his nape for another moment, as if to scare the darkness away. But it never left - always when the Sun rose, did the darkness consume him, change him, destroy him. Almost as if it were a nervous twitch, he glanced to the Moon, to track its travels across the sky, and ground his teeth once more as he felt the impending change, that was hours away still, but that number was forever decreasing, and forever dreaded.

"And your friend?" He tried again, to summon the faux happiness into his tones, to show interest in the mare, to distract himself from, well, himself. The crown that held his crumbling façade gestured towards the kitsune that accompanied them on their gallivant across the field, as his motion steadied into a more rhythmic pace, a smooth trot that would still require motion from their legs (to utilise this glorious body to its full extent while he can) as well as give ample opportunity for words to be exchanged (to distract his mind from his accursed situation) - that is, if his newest comrade decided she wished to match his stride and share her voice in conversation too, of course. His ears were tilted towards her now, his tail sweeping a graceful arc behind him with every stride.

It was only his eyes that did not stay constantly trained upon her, distracted as they were by the Moon's glowing trajectory across her midnight sky.

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THE CURSED ONE