The night had only just started its time when the voices brought the dapple gray creature to life. They were there with him constantly, more of stalkers than friends as he saw them at times. Being the only company he was ever given, it never bothered him much to have them around. Yet as one repeats the similar phrase he is common to, the other says his name to awake him. He'd slept through the day, having taken time to sleep in the shadow of the trees. His recent trip out of the forest left him tired, yet he wasn't given it too his companion. A quick breath and he pulls himself up, standing in the moonlight. Bats move overhead with him, his vibriant green eyes searching the area around. What made a stallion so handsome like himself stay here? Mistakes and grief, the voice of a monster. Looks weren't everything to him, yet what may have cursed him was his eyes. They held a glow in the darkness, like when you shined a light in the eyes of a cat or dog. His mane and tail fell like black satin over his hind legs and neck, black stockings climbing up above his knees on each leg. On his face lay an irregular, awkward blaze, a light gray instead of white, that slide down the left side of his at the start of his muzzle. The rest was an eery, pale gray with dominant black dapples across his body. His companions, though only he was able to see for they existed only in his mind, were the solid colours of white and black. The black begged for him to follow it to a place unknown; the white always stood beside him or stayed within ten feet of him, and plagued him with words to make him kill. Again.
Before he moves, the white figure moves beside him and flashes away as he juts his head about to see the creature, or should he say being? It lacked both, therefore there was no name to give it. Sounds of the night take hold, and he makes himself part of it as steps are taken forward. Steam becomes mist as it exits out of his body in a breath, parts of his soul moving out with it. Nights have gotten colder. He reminded himself to be prepared for Frostfall. It'd be welcoming him soon enough, and he needed to be prepared.
Something seems to break the silence ahead. The black figure stands closer, within twenty feet of him. Looks of annoyance take over his look. It screams at him with what brings horror to him in the night. TURN AWAY. TURN AWAY. HORRORS OF SEEN MONSTERS LAY BEFORE.
Why is it now that it says something different? He ignores, knowing that it was only playing tricks to him. At a point he'd been stupid enough to follow it, where it led him nowhere. What would change it now? Yet ahead he can see the forbidden pond ahead. Its red waters bring him in like sharks to chum. Blood, or at least something that resembles it. It draws him closer, till the gas appears.
His pace is ended, the white figure moving into it. A stray thought of warning it not to move into it comes to his mind, only to be blocked out as he remembers it is part of his disease. The disease that plagues his mind, makes him paranoid and see things not there. Hear the voices of something that truly doesn't exist; but this red, swirling gas is real. His green eyes remain locked onto it as it approaches him, before it wraps around his legs. Before he can catch himself, and maybe rescue, he finds himself walking towards it. As he moves into his first breath of the gas is taken, and something moves in his brain. A gear clunks, bearing. Another broken part of his mind, not to the disease that is a plague, yet to a red gas from a pond with waters coloured like blood. Oh yes, this is a schizophrenic murderer's paradise.

"talk talk talk"

How is his mind so macabre? It suits him so well, and as the gas moves about him he can only breath it in more. This gas seems to fuel him more. A high, if must. He was getting high off of a red gas that came out of a pond where the water looks to be mad of blood. His companions seem to follow within, taking more features to them. Now the black figure has eyes. Red eyes that glow and swirl about like the gas does. The white figure stands beside him, golden eyes that gleam in the coldest of moonlight. Both take on moving tails and manes. They're becoming reality. He can only laugh with his dark, monsterous laugh you only hear from demons in horror movies. Yet the laugh isn't to the public. Its private, private to his mind, and his friends of mental disease seem to join in.
It is only shortly after that does he feel touched by the gas, and the newest of voice comes to his mind.
Esfaere?! It speaks of that little heartbreaking mare? Where is her body rotting at now, Shajake? Oh yes, she's rotting away with the bodies of your father and brother. The words come from his faithful companion whose eyes are the colour of gold lacking a pupil. They match perfectly like a beast painted them over and shoved them into its skull. At this time he can see their mouths moving when they speak. In the distance, the black one follows the same transition, now laughing with a laugh only slightly deeper than Shajake's. It laughs like a drunk man who just found a joke that really wasn't that funny. Everyone is getting drunk and high off this gas.
He steps closer to the waters, the gas moving about his body. It doesn't hurt him; how is something this great seem that bad? He needed a name to this gas, to make it part of his mind. If it resided there, it'd make the disease more interesting. Soon enough, he'd reside there with them.
Green eyes shift downwards to the bloodly water. In them is Esfaere's image, every detail to her down to her purple eyes that held so much life. He stares in lust as she moves about, golden mane and tail made of shining curls moving about. But this is not the mare he knew. The one he feel for. She had always been so innocent, calm, and relaxed over everything that came to her. She had called herself a pacifist at a point. In the time he'd spent with her before she took off, she never ran about and giggled. If the gas was trying to trick him, maybe it would use his thoughts and memories to get the mare better. He could feed it if he wanted to; it was giving him a slice of the past, something that everyone at one point longs for. Is this a heaven or hell right here?
It needs a memory to feed off of to make her perfect. He lets it know of her little purple eyes that at times made even royalty turn and stare at, the way her golden coat gave the Sun envy. Every little curl in her mane and tail, the way she gave delighted smile to him that followed with innocenct giggles and laughs. Sometimes she would come to him and ask for comfort with a sweet voice she used so well. And then at the thought of her he feels another gear inside his head break. Screams errupt from the pair from his mind, and he backs down from the pond. It wasn't taking him now.
A growl comes him as he looks to the gas, taking one black stocked leg and slamming it down into it. His throat is roaring alive. He cannot commonly speak, but anger will force him to break those rules. The usage of Esfaere was not something that was going to please him, yet alone torment him. It brought out the murderer inside him, and caused him to kill.
"And you dare play tricks on a proven murderer like myself?! If you're going to do them, worthless gas, get things right."
He is only following from what he knows with murder. He was young when he had made that sin, and somehow it was enough to please everyone. Though here, as the fire that will become rage to fuel a murderer is there, he cannot have a soul to rip forcefully from its body. Unless the red gas was strong enough to do that for him. Then maybe he could be more pleasing.

"talk talk talk"