The beastly one watches the reactions given to him with his sharp, all-seeing eyes, observing the surprise and shock cross their faces, as if they had only just found the ugly creature and were belatedly showing their disgust for his appearance. This is all he understands, or thinks he understands, they are repulsed by him, and so they should be - his twisted, rotting form repulses even he, any reflective surface he might look into swiftly destroyed whilst in this wreck of a body. A scowl pinches his lips as he takes in their expressions, while they only show concern, icy indifference and even eagerness to know more about him, he reads them as pity, disgust and blind hate. He can not see what is given before him, for he is blinded by his own ugliness.

An ugliness that does not fade as the Sun goes down.

It was his soul that was ugly, and the day time hours that reflected the true nature of it. The same ugliness caused his perception of those around him to be twisted, untruthful. He sees the helpfulness they offer him, but he does not see it, understand it. He cannot comprehend that they would be kind, when he himself would be unkind should the situations be reversed. He feels all the scorn and hatred not emanating from them, but from himself, all from his own warped sense of reality. But he does not understand this, the key to the spell, the need to change himself and to perceive the world for what it actually offered him, to offer kindness and accept it in return. No, he knows not what he is denying, but denies it anyway.

Onni admits her helplessness, something which Kirottu had already ascertained, none can break this wretched curse, and Mauja's words and actions suggest he is, what? Apologetic? Surely not, who would apologise to a beast such as he? He speaks of honour, and Onni of pleasure, and Kirottu labels them liars, knowing full well that there is no honour in meeting and greeting a broken, perverse creature such as he. He falls silent after that, his cool blue eyes piercing Kirottu's equally sharp violet pools. His eyes, they plead for recognition, like maybe there is beauty in there, there is understanding, hope. But the scornful body that holds these eyes also blinds them, makes them unable to accurately read what is truly offered to him. He is offered peace, but he takes hatred instead.

Solstice introduces herself, and the lilac orbs dart back to her illustrious golden painted form, his own hardened expression softening ever so slightly at the sheer beauty the simple mare offers to the eyes, but then she speaks of pleasure. The stallion finds this infuriating, you see, for he cannot grasp why any of these beings would find his presence a happy occasion, not while he is in this form. Grinding his teeth, he reluctantly calls this mare a liar, a deluded creature even, for there is nothing pleasurable, or honourable, about this steed, not during the day. Nor during the night - but Kirottu would have believed them had they come across his night-time self. As it was, he denied their pleasantries with the simple resolve of his twisted, dark mind.

Onni's delightful voice continues, she tells him of this land, Helovia, of the herds, and just to confirm what Kirottu felt he knew all along, no offer of a home was made. They come to mock me, to show off all that they possess with no intentions of sharing.. I am nothing to them. A sadness enveloped him then, whatever life was animating his form seems to leak away, and leave behind a battered, defeated posture, the spark behind his eyes darkening against unknown resolves as it looks to each of the gathered in turn. They speak of Gods, of a drought.. And the beast adds another reason to his list to hate the Sun. Extended days? Less time in his preferred, rightful form? Brilliant. Teeth groaned as they ground against each other again, annoyance slipping over his façade like a dark veil.

"I shall take my leave of you all." It was probably an abrupt statement, but Kirottu was unpractised with simple niceties of social interaction. A rough snort rolled from his nostrils, though he longed for company, he simply could not stand their stares anymore, their lies, their hatred. His skin itched, his joints ached, he was slow to inspire the movement in his limbs again. But move he did, tracing a path between the spotted steed whom he hated on principle, and the palomino mistress he was reluctant to scorn, ears tilted in directions that suggested the conversation was over. A thought cross his mind, and like an itch, would not leave him until he voiced it. Rough tones spoke again, though there was some attempt to make them seem softer, more genuine, as he directed them towards the pegasus.

"Thank you." It was a strange feeling that coursed through him, this sense of true, righteousness. It was subtle, and he knew not the exact cause, but he seemed to be able to walk with more ease, his long tail even being lifted from the ground, swaying to and fro. Some small part of him had realised that even though she claimed to know nothing, Onni had indeed been helpful, despite his appearance. It would be the first of many small victories his inner soul might make against this curse.