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In a horrific 'accident', Confutatis was scarred hideously along her face. One eye turned a pale, cataract white, filmy like an old man's. For all the excruciating pain and the flickering, progressive loss of vision, it held one advantage. An advantage, admittedly, not much of an advantage in all honesty, but nevertheless it may the whole matter the tiniest sliver less worse. It made- and makes- her look truly ghastly, as if a door to her malicious soul had been thrown wide open. Even so, the loss of precious vision could never be fixed, at least not naturally, although one day maybe the gods could heal her.
When the rustling of footsteps and the heady scent of a feral horse filled the air with its lingering scent, the half-blind mare skittered to the side, nerves stretched tight as elastic bands, an adrenaline-inducing, carefully mixed blend of terror and rage. Frigid as the air was, it made everything crisper, even the subdued scents of frost-wreathed earth and the tang of pine nearly bitter. The dark-hearted, blackened mare's ears tightened to her skull, and her lips peeled back, baring yellowed teeth in a display of aggression. Her knotted silver tail lashed, the coarse fibers rough against the thickness of her coat, creating a low hissing sound unpleasant on the ears, the sort of sound that made teeth grit irritably. Swinging her elegantly sculpted head, her one good eye stared out, sweeping through the thick curtains of falling snow and resting upon a pale coat.
The mare was young, hardly more than a filly, a pretty young belle. Oh how delightfully she spoke, words so neatly crafted and elegantly put to Confutatis' audits. Accalia of the Assassins. Assassins! Ha! If this filly was representative of the Assassins, they must be a bunch of young fools running around, little swine trying to push their impudent noses into just about anything. And how daring. Offering a home to a complete stranger.
For a moment, the howl of wind and snow blot out everything and anything else, but it doesn't matter anyways. In just a few steps, Confutatis has covered the distance between them, neck arching rigidly, nostrils flaring and carriage haughty. Stepping much too close for the other's comfort- at least she hoped- the cruel bitch halted, lips curling, a frost-dusted, intangible being, just a wraith in the night. There was a brief second when Confutatis considers simply ending at this intrusion of person space, and turning away to delve deeper in Helovia, land of the sun, but she does not. Instead, the hard-hearted beast spoke, in a cold, condescending tone as if she has taken particular hate to this empty-headed child. "Well, Accalia;" she drawls drolly, not a hint of a grin about her charcoal lips. Utilizing a smile, no matter how fatal it promised to be, would be as if she felt the need to defend herself- from a preposterous child. "I don't really care for a home- not with any little darling Assassins home to one-year-olds" The bestial mare pauses, her good eye sparkling vindictively. "Do you always simply offer a home to any stranger? What, precisely, is to say I won't cut your throat in your sleep?"
Snow whips at her rugged body and the wind howls louder in her scarred ears, an entity struggling to tear her from the world, carry her off. Stoic and hard, an uninviting block of chiseled black stone against the wind's whining, she plants herself deep into the earth, utterly bored with the entire matter. The air grates at her lungs as she inhales, rasping softly from the frigid temperature.
"That's right. Nothing." Now, move it before you lose your head. "In any case... care to tell me about where I am before I leave you in the cold?" The maleficent let her eyes drift shut, ignored the cold nipping at her ears, lusting after simply disappearing into the night, instead of this tedium.
Nothing would- or, more precisely, be able to- stop her from taking off. Still, Confutatis irritably held herself from skipping over the typical introductions of thresholds and gateways. Why she was acting so restrained, escaped her. It wasn't out of any care for the equine that had appeared to meet her. It was not the darkness of the night, which only, if anything, tempted her. Children she didn't precisely like, nor dislike.
So why was she still standing here in the swirling snow?
CONFUTATIS
and when you meet me, you at long last acquaintance yourself with death in all its magnificent glory.
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[o] in the dark of night monsters roam
