06-03-2015, 02:17 PM
 He was an amazing voyeur sometimes. Blending into the background, his eyes finely tuned upon the surroundings. He watched and waited, silent and unmoving. The grey stallion had spent most of his life watching in the dark, waiting in his invisible state for something to happen, waiting for someone to actually notice him. No one did. He was certain he had spent nearly a whole year invisible, he spoke to others in this state, but many ran in fear of the ghosts that haunted their pasts. Not one acknowledged him. A year of that had become stale, made his muscles ache with boredom. His mind becoming a dull, unused machine. That was why he pushed himself through, became the demon he was right now. He terrorised others in his own little way, he tormented with tricks and a magician's show of hand. But no one actually stayed, no one stood and spoke, learnt things about the steed he only kept hidden. Like the way he had watched his mother's aging body deteriorate, and she still never let him attempt to help her. He wondered where she was now, or if she was even here. Or the way he often watched from the skyline at the throes of love, the whimsical feeling that takes hold of a heart and makes the mind think delusional things. No one knew this, no one asked him, and he did not wear his heart upon his sleeve. He wore the deadened thing deep within him, locked up, cold, unbeating. He'd been watching the bay mare for quite some time when he decided to make himself seen; first his head, then his neck, he slowly materialised with each waving step closer to her. the new, tantalising scent piquing his nose as he trampled the new shoots of spring grass beneath his feet. He did nothing, he said nothing, he just watched her, dark eyes trailing over her. She was intriguing, looking like she was after something a little more, interesting. He noticed things like that, sometimes. Not often, but he did catch them, like fleeting little butterflies in grubby hands, he caught them. ”Hello, Petal.” he acknowledged her. his voice a baritone, low, deep. he took a step forward, a few long tufts of grass tickling his fetlocks. ”Care for some company?” another little edge closer, another inclination of his head, a brief ruffle of his broad wings, a sharp inhale of his nostrils and he added, once more, for good measure. ”I’m Nier.” |