so long and good night; any

[Engelsfors]

♦♢♦ The shadows bathe me in their velvety sheath, concealed from the light, concealed from the bright winter sunlight. I have lost myself in the deepest recesses of the chamber for hours, come moonlight's finest hour, to the midday sun breaking through the thickest of naked boughs. I have wandered the ash tainted land, scarred and deeply rooted, my eyes wa wonder of dreamless sleep, my mind awake within my nightmares. The chill in the wind, it is ice, embedding deeper and deeper into my bones, right down to the marrow core. It is refreshing, the chill that runs along my body in errant rivulets. My nightly escapades have been a plenty, and I have explored the deepest depths, finding the pounding of the chamber's heart, one of a homely comfort. But my wanders through the night had let me to the field once more. The sun is bright, tangerine and ivory, piercing in its presence. The naked boughs of winter's grasp conceal me, lessen the harsh sun's glow upon my skin. I remain on the beat track, my lithe yet lofty frame a swift dancer over protruding roots and thick brush. Hooves sink and squish the damp earth. The cracks of ice loud and resounding in the midday silence. There are not many that stay concealed, my azure eyes survey the field from the darker boundary, drinking in the new smells, the new appearances. There are some old, some new.. but all I have not the slightest clue in knowing. Well, perhaps in time. Strong appendages, long and lithe, pull me further along the boundaries of the field, eyes still scanning the centre, trying to spot a lone straggler. Like fruit upon a tree, ripe for picking and the first to gently tug it from it's branch. I notice then, crown slithering back to look ahead of me, that there are some that prefer the quaint blanket of shadows, to the bright light that bathes one with a never-ending glow, it is like the sun can see into the deepest reaches of your heart your soul. there are some things inside of me that even the sun would have trouble brightening, and it's those dark, dark secrets that burn within me. Warming my icy frame from inside out. Cerulean orbs find him then, the stranger; though he seems quite adjusted to the layout, he knows the boundaries, where the shadows appear their darkest. A brief smile, debonair and brilliant, peels my lips back. Wavy tendrils of mane fall over my neck, my eyes as I extend my muzzle, nostrils fluttering, eyes alive with the gloss of inquiry, questions and answers. 'The shadows are quite the comfort, no?' my voice is black magic and velvet, twists of poison slipping from the glass, running down in thick purple rivulets. I am a bittersweet facade of grace and sultry poise. Blinking eyes then draw up, meeting the stranger's 'I'm Engelsfors, of The Chamber. You are?' ♦♢♦Drink the poison lightly, there are deeper and darker things than you; professor of the chamber