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09-25-2014, 11:20 AM
Why else would a bitch want a name if it was not a form of possession? For all her talk of demons and her claimed understanding, the white faced one was more insane than even Beloved, for she knew not what weight a name could hold even as she stated it aloud in the air. That the stranger is annoyed for a woman’s awareness of black magic, of conjurers and soothsayers, drives the aggravation lacing the diminutive ivory mare into a frenzy. Her own banner cracks and swishes, whirs and bites, her ears pinned and her lips curving into a vicious grimace that displays openly her desire to bring blood to the earth.
"You know nothing," she says, softly, the words rolling acrid and wicked off the tip of her vicious little tongue.
But the beast is laughing, and the white damsel feels her rage teem and twist, her teeth audible grate against one another and her wild eyes pinch and flicker with the restraint she forces over her madness, the thought of displeasing her dark Lord of Death painful in ways that only the insane can understand. For she gave him her name, did she not? He owned her in ways she did not wish for this stranger to possess her, and for all the logic she holds on such matters, none of it can make it past the chaos that is her mind.
The words tossed back to the pale one make her lips curl into a soured grimace, her tail ceasing its aggravated striking against her flanks to draw her eyes away and into the shadows, the demons within growling and scratching at their cold prisons until their nails bleed and the stench fills her cranium, until the night is oppressive.
A choking sound of frustration rises from the little one, moments before her hooves flail against the earth, clods rising with violent speed from the impacts of her tantrum as she sways and bobs in place, spittle splaying from clenched lips as the force of her small frame against the ground rattles them loose.
"YOU KNOW NOTHING!" she howls, her eyes sealed shut in the agony of the cry, her flesh trembling and quaking as she simmers in rage restrained, "lost one, wanderer! Devils walk among us. They can see you!" Another howling sound escapes her taught features, pain visible in the fine lines of her porcelain mask, the black of her markings deep and gruesome in the ruddy light.
"Call me Ghost, wench," she stamps her hoof again, breath ragged and full of angst that she cannot properly articulate for all the chaos in her skull, "it makes no difference if you’ve died." A sudden change strikes her – the rage simmers into nothingness, replaced with a crazed smile and a tittering of giggles as she discovers in her mind the beautiful image of this one covered in gore, bloated and pale as the body that had fallen from the heavens…
And its beauty steals away all memory of being annoyed, of having hated her for being too stupid to know that names mean more than most seem to think they do. She doesn’t even know how she knows or from where it was learned – but it doesn’t matter.
The sickening sound of her crazed giggles fills the clearing, her eyes misty and full of reverence when they finally reopen and find purchase on the one framed by fireflies, their red light so like blood that her mental image almost usurps reality.
A shaking breath steals her laughter, a slow pace forward draws crazed and watching eyes all the nearer.
"You. You are alone in this land," she states, the sweetness of her voice a lie, the goodness poisoned and the wickedness thinly veiled, "we know what happens to those who are alone when shadow comes. Do you?" A brow raises, another chiming giggle resounds through the darkened clearing, the recurrence of her mental painting of the woman doused in blood and gored upon the earth rousing delight from the most malevolent of places.
"Come with me," she asks, gesturing with her spiraled horn the path that led to the north, the hidden trail that went up and up into the snow, "spare yourself from your own ignorance."
"You know nothing," she says, softly, the words rolling acrid and wicked off the tip of her vicious little tongue.
But the beast is laughing, and the white damsel feels her rage teem and twist, her teeth audible grate against one another and her wild eyes pinch and flicker with the restraint she forces over her madness, the thought of displeasing her dark Lord of Death painful in ways that only the insane can understand. For she gave him her name, did she not? He owned her in ways she did not wish for this stranger to possess her, and for all the logic she holds on such matters, none of it can make it past the chaos that is her mind.
The words tossed back to the pale one make her lips curl into a soured grimace, her tail ceasing its aggravated striking against her flanks to draw her eyes away and into the shadows, the demons within growling and scratching at their cold prisons until their nails bleed and the stench fills her cranium, until the night is oppressive.
A choking sound of frustration rises from the little one, moments before her hooves flail against the earth, clods rising with violent speed from the impacts of her tantrum as she sways and bobs in place, spittle splaying from clenched lips as the force of her small frame against the ground rattles them loose.
"YOU KNOW NOTHING!" she howls, her eyes sealed shut in the agony of the cry, her flesh trembling and quaking as she simmers in rage restrained, "lost one, wanderer! Devils walk among us. They can see you!" Another howling sound escapes her taught features, pain visible in the fine lines of her porcelain mask, the black of her markings deep and gruesome in the ruddy light.
"Call me Ghost, wench," she stamps her hoof again, breath ragged and full of angst that she cannot properly articulate for all the chaos in her skull, "it makes no difference if you’ve died." A sudden change strikes her – the rage simmers into nothingness, replaced with a crazed smile and a tittering of giggles as she discovers in her mind the beautiful image of this one covered in gore, bloated and pale as the body that had fallen from the heavens…
And its beauty steals away all memory of being annoyed, of having hated her for being too stupid to know that names mean more than most seem to think they do. She doesn’t even know how she knows or from where it was learned – but it doesn’t matter.
The sickening sound of her crazed giggles fills the clearing, her eyes misty and full of reverence when they finally reopen and find purchase on the one framed by fireflies, their red light so like blood that her mental image almost usurps reality.
A shaking breath steals her laughter, a slow pace forward draws crazed and watching eyes all the nearer.
"You. You are alone in this land," she states, the sweetness of her voice a lie, the goodness poisoned and the wickedness thinly veiled, "we know what happens to those who are alone when shadow comes. Do you?" A brow raises, another chiming giggle resounds through the darkened clearing, the recurrence of her mental painting of the woman doused in blood and gored upon the earth rousing delight from the most malevolent of places.
"Come with me," she asks, gesturing with her spiraled horn the path that led to the north, the hidden trail that went up and up into the snow, "spare yourself from your own ignorance."
you've lost your demon.
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
