i’ve been both a saint & a viper

Even though the unending night is gone, darkness continues to ravage him.

It spreads from the inky blackness of his legs and spills over through his chest and shoulders, splashed across him as it grows, nearly erasing any of the blue mottled coat he once had. Horns had begun to splice through his forehead, spindly and dangerously sharp - naturally aggressive and meant for tearing flesh. They are not even near their full height but still branch from his onyx forehead ominously.

He is hungry. He has been for weeks now. It keeps him from sleeping, making him wander all of the forest with a glazed look, forcing himself to eat but finding nothing to satisfy the pains that roil like thunder in his belly. The feeling agonizes him, along with the disembodied whispering that encourages him to find sustenance elsewhere.

Blood, they suggest with haunting howls.

As their voices ring in his ears, movement in the forest draws the stallion from his nightmarish reverie.

A soft glow, calming and inviting, draws the creature in.

The glow, however, is not what makes him continue following her.

He wonders if he is imagining the sound of her heartbeat in his ears (or if it is just his own) and the thought of blood rushing through veins is enough to make him salivate. Balto inhales deeply, shuddering, and halts his steps towards her. The voices protest, dragging their claws across his dark skin and snapping angrily in his ears.

“It’s not safe here,” comes his voice from the shadows, unaware if she has already noticed his presence or not. It’s not safe anywhere, they remind him, if you’re there. Balto wonders then how easily he might be able to splice her flawless pale skin - would it take only one swipe or two?

He winces visibly, groaning loudly. He takes a few steps back, swinging his head as if it would rid him from all the terrible thoughts that plague him - as if it would make the burning in his stomach disappear.  Her blood, they suggest to him with laughter and the stallion champs his teeth at nothing. He attempts to forget her; to let her go into the night or for him to turn away, but is unable.

Balto

i’ve been both a saint & a viper

The breeze brings her scent to him and his paper-thin nostrils inhale deeply, his chest shuddering. His blue mottled neck curls as he presses his chin to his chest, attempting to control a sudden urge that he does not quite understand and refuses to give in to. Perhaps he is trapped, suspended between this world and the next, tortured each time he takes a breath.

Her glow casts itself onto the growing darkness of his skin and he turns his face from her. Had her eyes been able to see the terrible gauntness of his face and the cruel blood that stains his skin, perhaps the fear she felt would be more intense, more warranted. But she cannot, so even with her beautiful light falling across him, she cannot see the way his antlers’ shadows splice across his thin and malnourished face.

He wonders if she can sense his hunger, his necessity for something to calm the quell in his belly. Can she sense that he is trying to keep himself from hunting her as he trembles in the light of her glow? His dark mouth twitches at her reply - no emotion is there, but perhaps there is a chuff of laughter garbled in his throat. Was he in agreement, or perhaps entertained by her naivety?

She steps forward and he immediately backs away. His monsters bite at his flesh, urging him forward. He relents, for whatever sickness has overtaken him has not quite become powerful enough for him to be unable to resist fully. The look of concern that falls across her lovely pale face makes his stomach clench; she already shows so much compassion for a stranger.

How sad it will be to watch her die. The voices share with him uncaringly, kissing him coldly on his temple. Balto grimaces, grinding his teeth together furiously.

“I am not,” he lies as his body groans for her - imagining the taste of her blood and muscle on his teeth and tongue, sickening himself at the thought while simultaneously lusting for it. He swallows hard. He used to be misleading; a stallion plagued by mind only. But now, he is becoming the monster within physically, his intentions now for all to see. “Are you not afraid?” The question is genuine, unthreatening. He already thinks he knows the answer - if she were truly afraid, she would not linger before him as she does now.

Balto

i’ve been both a saint & a viper

His face distorts when she asks him again, clarifying with such an apologetic gaze that he feels his insides turning into ice. He wants to scream in agony, but nothing comes from the darkness of his mouth (where his teeth are slowly turning sharper, a dull and terrible pain that cannot be soothed). The light of her halo illuminates that terrible twist on his gaunt face, sharp cheekbones creating ugly shadows across dull skin, rage igniting in whatever muscle he has left while confusion softens the burning of his sunken eyes.

Despite his warning, despite the low hiss that crawls grotesquely from his cracked lips, she creeps towards him hesitantly. His ears fall into the dark tangles of his mane, mouth gaping in a warning. He isn’t sure what he would do (what he was capable of doing) if she were to step any closer. Her very scent leaves him dizzy, along with the headache that pounds incessantly from his sprouting antlers, blind with the blood that drips slowly into his eyes.

His stomach roils and with trembling steps that she will mistake as an invitation, he comes closer for reasons he chooses to ignore. “No amount of healing will fix what is already inside me,” he whispers darkly to her, his icy gaze fixated on the gentle thrum of her throat and how it pulses rhythmically.

“Curious?” He repeats the word with disbelief, sinister laughter that only he could hear echoing in his voice. His nose wrinkles and perhaps there is a scoff in his throat, but it is quelled by the offering of her name. He jerks his head away from her, closing his eyes briefly as if regaining composure, before simply turning a single ear back towards her. “Curious for what, Ryatah?” Balto murmurs into the darkness, unable to turn to meet her just yet. “Wondering my name, perhaps? Or maybe something more ominous?”

His sharp teeth grind against each other as he robotically turns to face her again, eyes narrowing. He is unsure if it is truly himself speaking now, or if his demons have entered his mind once again. “You can call me Balto.”

Knowing my name won’t matter, comes the intrusive thought in his head, once she is dead.

Balto