Whose afraid of the big bad wolf? [Any]

[Reuen]

Is it just me, Or do you wonder if we're put here just to see, The words fall at my hooves like broken fragments, puzzle pieces all torn and shredded by wolves' claws. I stare down, wisps of shadow, curtains of lace saturate my eyes. Shield me from the sizzling eyes of the cream beast. I watch him, hollowed, empty. He is like the predator that stalks the night, all teeth and claw, all honey spun words but poison slathering at his jowls. He reminds me of something, of someone, but it pains me to remember. Every thick, weeping scar throbs with the memory, and I then pull myself upright, perfectly still, my lungs barely breathing, my eyes unblinking. The painted lady talks of food, of play and fun, and it strings me along some wayward path. My jaded eyes lost within the myriad of words, discussion. The beast turns once more to me, and my pulse rages beneath my chocolate skin, throbbing with something untimely, something as foreign as the concept of movement right now. Fear. My nostrils flutter as gently, like the kiss of butterfly wings. I say nothing, I stand as still as I had before, breathing as shallow, as hushed as the still of the night. Hooves beat in the distant, and I'm sure it's a memory, some snippet of my past that plays out in black and white in the distance, peppered and torn in places like faded movie reel. A flash of shimmering blue, a dash here and he's there, right before me, right next to me. Jason the name pulses in my mind, I remember him, the swirls of magic, the touch that made my fiery insides cool. 'Jason.' I remain still, corpse like as he talks, as Straia watches and as the pallid beast sings the most haunting of songs. I drag my hollow eyes up to stare at him, fire and brimstone beyond those irises. My heart inside, it quivers and flops, like some dying fish out of water. 'Secrets. Secrets.' my tone slips, naive, child-like. I lower my muzzle, pressing the course velvet deep into the moist ground, breathing in the dirt, the dank air. Nightmares taint my vision, spreading their inky tendrils around me, suffocating me slowly, slowly. 'Everything is ruin. Ruin.' How much heartache we can take, Without hanging from the tallest tree? - resident of the gates -