Tiny tendrils of white light beckoned dark eyes to open, their luminescent fire burning bright beneath a filmy surface. All life gathered there, a central core of being that was otherwise replaced by monochrome coloring of the flesh. She was a sheath of shadowy lace, perplexing the eye to dismiss her presence, all smoke and mirrors. A heart that desired no comfort thud beneath her breast, each beat causing a painful discourse to inflict soft groans of agony from her throat. They were not audible and yet just barely heard, traces of voice to the open air that sifts through the mind and settles there leaving one uneasy. Yellowed teeth grind against one another in a sickening crunch, tension building in her jowls like a hungry cat, famished and on the hunt. Blackened irises register surroundings, but only halfheartedly so., as if finding nothing of interest. Just as her thoughts come together, they fall apart again, broken fragments of the mind, melding and then breaking again like glass.

A bitter grimace touches dry, cracked lips that do not open. Her gait is uneven, painful in appearance and slow like static noise, grainy and flashing against the screen in the midst of the night. After a moment, she pauses and stills, eyes ahead and unfocused. Against her flesh, ribs are showcased like diamonds and her flanks are gaunt with malnutrition, but not so much as to assume she is starved. No, the hunter will eat, but she waits until the time is right. The idea waters her mouth, saliva brimming the edges like a sick dog and she does nothing to contain the salivation despite the fact that she is aware company will soon be unavoidable.

As dusk approaches, she smiles and while it looks strange upon her face, she welcomes nightfall when she knows she will come alive. Like a demon, she thrives towards the darkness, drawn to the elusive quality of the witching hour. Barren trees gaze down at her and cringe at the creature as if she has stolen the angels from heaven and hidden them away in Lucifer’s dungeon. She taps her heels against his roof and chuckles lightly at the sound, so forlorn in the silence that Threshold has come to adopt. The birds do not sing in her presence and sometimes she misses the sound, as it is the only reminder of a life alternate her own, one she will never inhabit because she is gone.

She does not dream anymore because they will always go unanswered, dreams are not granted to the devil’s children… That’s what her mother had always told her in such an angelic voice, whispered softly into her ear before bed. She bristles at the recollection and her shoulders come together under the loose skin of the wraith. She chooses to banish that familiar face to the hell she has come to embrace and instead pictures heaven for a brief moment, a place she shall never see as her mother had promised; they were destined for damnation.

The muddy ground cakes around her hooves under her weight and she shifts upwards from the sensation, momentarily fooled into thinking that Satan had decided to welcome her early to his humble abode. It is in this moment that she curses lightly beneath her breath, angered by the effect of her mother’s words, which still rung presently in her ear long after the witch’s death. It had been a slow passing, one that the ghostly creature had relished. Such a sickly animal, her mother was, her stomach thinning and turning until she was but a mere shadow of her former brilliance. Those awful eyes had speculated her offspring until death, never closing even after, lacing the mare’s mind with the bitter image of the end. Upon her dying breath, she left her tortured child with the only parting sentiment she knew, “I’ll be back for you.”

Such a twisted existence was led after losing the old hag, one that entailed a deep mourning, a loss of understanding and most of all, a deep hatred for the soul that had left her this way. She recalled the crude touches and foul words, ones of love that extended beyond family… She was but an object to the matron, one that encouraged lustful jealousy over her own daughter. It was a sickly affair they held, tender caresses that were ill-received, ones that would not end until life itself was taken. Love was not a word that the now grown mare knew, because it had been thrust upon her in such a cruel way. She had been robbed of the feeling the moment her own mother declared her to be her heart’s content, a lover that could not return the sentiment. In all fashions, the mare had been ruined, all relationships lost for the one she could never replace.

This was not a life she wanted and the idea sealed her eyes closed, flashes of red dancing across her vision as a painful tearing of her heart began, slowly ripping from top to bottom. She grieved her mother’s death and yet embraced it, eager to be rid of the mental disturbances that caused her so much pain. She was not designed for these emotions and banished them quickly in favor of the stillness that had kept her calm under her mother’s sickly hand, groping in places she could no longer control but still claimed her own. She would remain so scarred until her own death came to pass, ridding her finally of tender relapses of the past that she was trying to hard to escape. It was over now and yet it had just begun…

It speaks to me

and says I'm coming for you

Somber light was blocked from the rear and the muscles in her thin neck contracted slowly to her right, ogre eyes feasting hungrily upon a mahogany intruder. The words she spoke fell upon deaf ears as they gazed upon each other, moments in time that were frozen in discomfort as silence ensued. Thoughts would not become action as the hell-dog sat idly before the horned vessel of light. No real assumptions had been made of the squawking disturbance, but she was surely more heartfelt then the shadowy beast in whose company was sought. In a moment of weakness and perhaps annoyance, hollowed tunes slipped through thin, cracked lips. “And how should it concern you?” Tired, black eyes came to rest on those of brown with a mild look of curiosity. This mare looked nothing like her own incestuous relative, so it could not be a reincarnated façade of the demon herself. In that moment of realization, her shoulders relaxed now and she finally shifted to face the other, her steady gaze unwavering and yet so very empty. Nothing lie in their depths, no hopes, no emotions, no compassion…

A bitter moment passed between them, where upon a gust of wintry air moved in from the north and chilled the atmosphere. The frozen one then took the time to ponder this mare’s obvious fascination in her presence and a small smirk part her lips. The feature looked strange upon her face, as no such displays of amusement had crossed her path in years.

Beyond them, the world shifted ever so slightly and that wave pressed between them slowly, creating tension that perhaps was only susceptible to the crow with no wings. If it had affected her, she was sure to hide it well, but then again there was a small tremor of abhorrence that crept alone her spine, a small reminder of the fear that she had felt in the company of her incestuous mother. As if to rid herself of the sickening sixth sense, she grated her teeth, crunching the obvious pressure that had consumed her, body and soul. The war that had been waged internally was silent as the brittle mare returned once more to her present company.

Lena was her name, one that held elegance in the very sound of it, but she saw no elegance here. Just a plain animal dressed in horn to parade as some mythical fantasy that should never have come into existence. Both appeared to be fairies in a dreamlike existence that was real and yet so unreal. At that, the mare’s whole life had seemed to be surreal, one nightmare after another, never allowing her to surface from an endless slumber that darkened her days little by little. For years she had desperately cried to the heavens, asking what she had done to deserve such devastation and no answers ever came.

She watched Lena now, abandoning her reverie for something of more substance. Those dark eyes followed her every movement, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the stray threads of matted mane that flew about in the winter breeze; it was a moment that she would sear into the back of her mind, a moment of pure normalcy that warmed her icy heart if only for a short time. Again the words bubbled from her throat to the quite air, rasping from misuse like an old dog. “I seek nothing that you can offer, though I wonder what it is you seek here in my presence.” The message was clear, though curt, due to the wraith’s lack of grace in the company of another. All she had ever known were the nauseating words of infatuation spoken quite frequently by the old witch. The thought made her stomach twist, creating once again a hunger that could not be satisfied by victuals of the herbal breed.

Swallowing the sensation, she shifts once more, nostrils flared as if spooked by some unseen force before calming again. “You’ll call me Chernobyl… as courtesy beseeches me.”

It speaks to me

and says I'm coming for you

Around them, the world was hauntingly silent, as if all eyes had turned to look upon the pair with ominous discontent. The Threshold was a mild place, unlike the various darkened crevices of Helovia that concealed such devilish creatures, mere mongrels to the face of life. No one noticed these lifeless souls, not unlike herself, though she couldn’t imagine why. The land gave meaning to these ghosts that wandered, gave a heart to those with none, perhaps like the Wizard in Oz. Her thoughts began to drift again, gently curving along the stream of consciousness that meandered into the recesses of her mind. There she found sullen unease, burning in the low light like a campfire that was about to die out. The shadows that pressed in around it were fervent to avoid illumination, while some took their chances and erupted into flames, examples for those who were hesitant to follow. Turn after turn, they exploded, bursting into light as the fire grew weaker. In the remaining seconds as the fire died away, she felt breathless and trapped before the darkness swallowed her entirely.

Through the tunnel and back to reality, she returned to Lena’s side, expressionless and quiet though slightly anxious. Her mouth had parted as panting persisted and her eyes had narrowed marginally. Any place would be better than this… this sullen reminder of a home that she longed to erase but was forced to remember. She shifted in the cold as her hind legs had become sore from bearing her substantial weight. Clouds had rolled in above them now and nothing could hide them from the mysterious awakening of the rain. The heavens had yet to cry, though the impending tears were inevitable. “If I could be so bold as to wonder what has caused your number to diminish?” It was a curious question due to the impartial nature of the mare since she really had no interest in the matter either way. If she was being recruited to the lowly ranks of some dying empire she had no desire to employ her allegiance whereupon her life would merely become part of the robbery in which she had enlisted.

Her tunes had softened now and perhaps a trace of understanding lingered in the remainder of her otherwise dry agreement. “I suppose that should you inform me of you’re herd’s purpose, I might consider a plea to join you… if the terms are agreeable.” Her gaze had left the other animal entirely, ashamed at such weakness in the need to belong. It was a trait that embedded itself in the core of her breeding but defied all she had come to know after such a grueling childhood. Did she really want to align herself with another after such trust had been broken so long ago?

In truth, part of her wished to depend on another if only to free herself of such obligations, but fear and anger left her crippled and indecisive. Blackened eyes look upon Lena, a surge of confusion tainting her thoughts before leaving her entirely lost once again. Words were the only thing left to save her as words were the only thing she had to rely on. There were no promises, no guarantees that could salvage the sense of mistrust building in her gut. If this was her destiny, she would know it and she would follow willingly and serve to the best of her ability in whatever tasks required her assistance.

[OOC: I’m sorry, this was really… scatter-brained.]

It speaks to me

and says I'm coming for you