[open] "my heart's a ghost, " you cried; any

[Bad]

BAD

Bad believes in composure. Though his father loved him, and everyone he met as a child was nothing but kind to him, there was a quiet, barely perceptible tension in the air. He did not know its source, but in the way children do, he assumed it was somehow related to him.
(He was right, in that way – Garbage had alluded to Bad’s other parent, but had not given him a name, much less the details. This was for the best. Bad’s existence was a betrayal, of sorts, and his other father, infamous.)
It left him with a certain caution. A certain alertness. That, and growing up in a world where darkness and monsters reigned, left him an alert, cautious boy. He knows he has plenty of tools with which to defend himself, but he also knows Beqanna is home to some terrible beings.

So he is startled when this other stallion, loose-limbed, wanders into his fog with such…carelessness. Bad is not, well, bad, so he does not think he himself poses much of a danger, but he thinks of the other horses who might.
“Hello,” he says, his voice wary. He listens to the stallion’s stallion and holds back a small smile. It feels good, to have his power acknowledged, even if it’s by a stumbling stranger.
“Yes,” he says, “it’s mine.”
To show off, he curls it in closer to them, thick and heady, and then disperses it around them, thinning it out, so he can better see the other. He notes the eyes – red, bright – and thinks of his own orange eyes, bright and terrible in their own way.

does the dark feel warmer than the light, now?

@[Obscene]