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The darkness was impenetrable. It was darker than the darkest nights, and even with the surprisingly well-off night vision horses were gifted with, Confutatis could not make out hardly a thing. A predator, a lurking monster, prowling closer; the snow whispered, the air was frigid, and yet without sight she felt eerily lost, as if she had been condemned even from the heat of hell, instead locked into a freezer, left to rot in the cold. Up this far north, the sooty mare would expect a glistening veil of shimmering colors in the sky, sifting emeralds and verdant greens, indigo and violets, pale blues and sparkling vermilion, as if the rainbow had burst, unable to contain itself, forced into its mutinous arch. The very sensation of darkness so deep it was tangible, a living force around her, was sinister. It was then the harlot realized quite how vulnerable she was, even more so than usual with her single useless eye.
A subtle quiver wracked her voluptuous but blemished body. Her wickedness, her malice, her animosity and resentment seemed to bled out from her; and then the second realization of the night hit her harder than ever before.
Her mouth, scarred and corroded from the venomous acid that was her saliva- admittedly, it had built up a resistance, but nevertheless it was puckered and lined with hideous white lines- tasted strange, as if she had drunk a liter of gummy water. Hardly did the mare dare to breathe as she tentatively waited for the familiar acidulous taste to return, but it did not. Had the black oblivion that struck the world stripped her of this small protection, the tiny comfort, too? A gasp was torn from her charcoal lips; "the little fuckers! Damn the bastards!" A plethora of terrible curses were stolen from her lips as the wind moaned louder, yet still a string of nasty words made its marching way. Fuck; shit; damn; whores; unpleasant words best not mentioned any further for the little ones' innocent ears.
Her lips curled viciously, parting into a maddened snarl, the shark's grin, the wolf's growl, the cat's hissing warning. It was Déodat's words that startled her back into the cold black reality that had become the world, and she inclined her head slightly, a touch anxiously. Darkness was to become her life, it appeared; and the idea was not appealing, not when she knew Déodat would not be alongside her forever. In fact, somewhere she knew with an insistent tug that he would be leaving sooner than ever, no doubt to return to his home where he would remain safe and sage in the hordes that were his run-of-the-mill family. "The magic that is my blessing and my cursed has been stripped from me like a wolf's hide." Confutatis growls, her voice a hoarse, dark melody. "Are the gods gone, leaving our world to what will soon become chaos?"
For surely the world would not be quiet, and the dark things would creep from the earth and roam the planet shrouded in shadow.
"Sweet Déodat, the wolf and the bear fed at the same carcass," she laughs, shaking off the darkness that eats the dark. How soft she grew around the blood prince! She was maleficent and tenacious, terrible and bloodthirsty, monstrous and ambitious; her heart was steel, charred around the edges, and her lips were curled in contempt. Confutatis was no filly running from nightmares, nor a colt from his responsibilities; she would stand tall and stand mighty. "Déodat, my love, I shall not fool myself; it is your time to depart, blood prince, to return to your valiant soldiers who quake at the sign of darkness."
The wicked mare pauses, musing over what she shall say next. "I shall not weep when you leave, but I will miss your dark face and your callous eyes-" She is dramatic and theatrical, and uses it in her chilling, malicious way. "I will tell you my dirty little secret to bear- I slayed my own child with this magic that was stolen from me, I brought down a country, and I was born of a raped mare and a bastard king."
CONFUTATIS
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