You know, come to think of it, I really should have started to grow alarmed by now from the number of times I've been gripped by a strange, uncontrollable rage. It would build in the bottom of my breast and seem to crawl upwards through my throat and into the tiny, minuscule crevices of my brain, gripping me in a fit until I just snap out of it. It's strange, it's different, and it's really alarming... But at the same time I just don't particularly care.

I'm sane, I can think for myself, and I don't freak out and attack anything at first sight, so I'm really not concerned. Normally I can snap myself out of those mysterious fits by grumbling and cursing to myself, hiding away from the rest of the Basin's population and find a nice quiet place to brood. I haven't always been like that, not before I spent so long underground and by myself with only the shadows to keep me company.

What can I say? It's been awhile since I've been around others like me, who breathe, eat, think, and speak. Still. Enough about my quirks.

It's a nice summer day and I'm taking advantage of the weather and stretching my legs, which never seem to stop growing. I was getting tall in my age and filling out quite nicely, my ebony and brindled body broadening and my chest growing muscular and taut. The thick, frosted tresses of my mane and tail seemed to grow just as quick as the rest of me and hung in thick curls and crimps about my neck and shoulders, framing my figure quite well... But I wasn't a vain creature, no, so my looks hardly mattered. They were a tool for seducing, for taking advantage of those who may think me weak for my sex. I was a soldier. A warrior. A machine bred and being molded and built for battle and bloodshed... And that was okay with me.

I enjoyed the opportunity. I craved the opportunity, the power, the urge to dominate and control through strength and capability. It excited me, empowered me... And that desire drove me to yearning for something greater than I was. That, however, would come with time and experience that I desperately needed to gain.

"What says you, Father?" I ask the air around me, my hooves sinking into the soft blanket of grass that stretched out across the expanse of the Thistle Meadow. It had been a long, long time since I had last come across my father, Crowley, and that reminder only served to depress me... But I still tried to speak to him, to his spirit, to any part of him that my words might reach. "I wonder if you would approve of me now, like this, like a soldier... This madness that lurks inside me." But it wasn't madness, not for me. It was... A gift? No, no... Not a gift. It was just a part of me now, and I had to learn to understand it. I was not sick, I was not ill... I was just different.

... And that was also okay with me.

@[Destry]