Everything Anhedonia knew of the creatures around her had been garnered through observation. At first, when she'd left the cover of the trees she called home, she'd been certain that was enough. She had an unfaltering ability to read the intentions of others through small cues, practice made perfect after watching hundreds of conversations - hundreds of lives - play out in front of her hidden gaze. But she had learned little was so cut and dry when it was her in the conversation. She could still read another horse like a book - usually even if they were lying or trying to mask their intentions - but figuring them out was much harder where her emotions and involvement came in to play.
The mare that appears makes words dance behind Anhedonia's eyes, descriptors she applied to every piece in the play. (To her, the whole world had been a stage, full of actors that might not even have been real. She spent so much time alone.) Rictus. This one is called Rictus. She comes with a false grin that seems pinned to her cheeks. It is disturbing and Anhedonia can feel her heart pick up the pace when Rictus speaks.
(Something leathery, sinking downwards to some unknown blackness, sliding against her skin, gliding past her. On and on and on it went, great musculature curling around her own. Just as the sun ceased to reach her she saw it – one red eye large enough to blot out everything but fear, watching her as he sank. Minutes passed by. Hours. The hum of pressure against her eardrums steadily gave way to n o t h i n g at all. She couldn’t even hear her heartbeat. Hours. Colder. Weightless. When she hit the sand at the bottom she knew silence. It would never end. Here at the bottom she would dissolve – slowly, disintegrating in exactly as much time as it took for Rictus to process Anhe for fuel – and join all the others that made up this sea floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. Little grains looking up and waiting for another pale silhouette to join them.)
She takes a breath, forces herself to really look at the creature that has pulled up at her side in the night.
"Anhedonia," she answered quietly, reluctantly. "I already have a name for you."
Anhedonia
i've grown familiar with villains that live in my head
they beg me to write them so they'll never die when i'm dead