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07-04-2013, 12:45 AM
Slaiter My favorite dreams are nightmares
The ghoul is stunned. For the briefest of moments, he believes the girl to be her, the mare with a ruined mouth. In the darkness, colors are warped, dulled or silvered until it is impossible to know the true hue of something without close scrutiny. Even his night-adapted eyes are fooled, and already expecting myths. And so he when he sees her, shadows darkening her mane into black, coat some brownish color, and beautiful, he believes. She has come, lured in, or perhaps brought into being, by his story. This is her saving grace. Any other to intrude, one who did not happen to look similar enough to trick him, would have been met by an angry charge, would have been forced to fight. But not her, not tonight, for he thinks he loves her. Even when she steps closer, pale foxfire showing her to be chestnut, he does not attack, convinced she is simply wearing a glamour, hiding her true self from him. Unneeded, in his mind, but understandable. He knows well how cruel the world is to monsters. Even her words, innocent as they are, convince him of her. So simple, and so threatening if looked at right. Of course she would want to know if he is alone, would insinuate he should most definitely not be out here by himself. But he is, and he knows how to escape the things roaming the night, things like her. He can outwit her and flee, lose himself in the swamp he calls home, run and run and hide until she gives up on chasing him. He is quick, and he is smart, and she will not catch him. But he does not want to leave. Instead, he thinks over her question. Who is he? He is the ghoul, the zombie. The undead, unholy abomination. He is a monster, but that's alright because she is too. He is the son of a corpse and a witch. He is wrong, and he is cursed, and he is profane. He is a thing that Should-Not-Be, but he exists anyway. He is so many things, and it would take all night to tell her everything, to inform her of who he is, and he doesn't think she cares. He simply speaks his name. "Slaiter." And he waits. |
