06-03-2015, 02:22 PM
His childhood had been an easy and pleasant one. He had wanted for nothing, except perhaps for more affection. His angel-winged mother had not been one prone to displays of affection, and neither had his father. His parents were two opposites, the day and the night, sun and the moon - and he was a weird conglomeration of the two. The grey in between, the blue sky.
He was no stranger to death.
Every day when he peels back his flesh to reveal muscles, then deeper still to his internal organs and then finally his bones, he is reminded of mortality. Not his, of course, he is immortal, perpetually stuck in the prime of his life. He could style himself as a reaper of death and descend with a wide, skull-grin and scare the hell out of everyone, but he doesn't.
Perhaps he should. He might get more attention in the Field. He has yet to even find a single mare willing to join his herd. He despairs. He knows he cannot be that ugly, having followed the strong Spanish heritage on his mother's side, so what's the reason? Perhaps he hasn't spoken to enough mares. It's a game of numbers, after all, right?
The black mare catches his attention almost straight away with her Halloween eyes. He's not one to judge a book by its cover - but she sure did look interesting, especially the way she screeched to a very sudden stop in the middle of the Field. He approaches her, a friendly smile on his tan lips, wings held lightly against his sides.
"Hello there, I'm Cezary. What's your name?" he pauses. "You seem in a hurry."
He was no stranger to death.
Every day when he peels back his flesh to reveal muscles, then deeper still to his internal organs and then finally his bones, he is reminded of mortality. Not his, of course, he is immortal, perpetually stuck in the prime of his life. He could style himself as a reaper of death and descend with a wide, skull-grin and scare the hell out of everyone, but he doesn't.
Perhaps he should. He might get more attention in the Field. He has yet to even find a single mare willing to join his herd. He despairs. He knows he cannot be that ugly, having followed the strong Spanish heritage on his mother's side, so what's the reason? Perhaps he hasn't spoken to enough mares. It's a game of numbers, after all, right?
The black mare catches his attention almost straight away with her Halloween eyes. He's not one to judge a book by its cover - but she sure did look interesting, especially the way she screeched to a very sudden stop in the middle of the Field. He approaches her, a friendly smile on his tan lips, wings held lightly against his sides.
"Hello there, I'm Cezary. What's your name?" he pauses. "You seem in a hurry."