12-11-2016, 12:58 AM
She was insolent. Demanding. Even when she bowed underneath the weight of the Fear, she did not fully submit to it, and he found that infuriating. Part of him wanted to tear her apart right now, feel her flesh rip beneath his teeth and hooves, watch her blood anoint the Pangea soil. Part of him wanted to taste Death and to know that he was the one who called it; to know that he was capable of bringing such destruction.
But the other part was intrigued, curious.
Part of him wanted to know just how much pressure he would have to apply before she crumpled, to study her until he could find all of her fault lines—to know where he could set off earthquakes and where natural disasters could ravage her beautiful, broken body. It was that part that eventually won out and he locked up his more murderous desires, for now.
“Bruise,” he finally said, allowing her an answer to her one demand. The name was harsh on his slippery tongue, as threat as much as promise, and it hung ominously in the air between them. “My name is Bruise.” A self-given moniker, an exclamation he had snapped up and held to himself. At night, he could still see the mare who had unknowingly given him the name, her bright green eyes staring out at him. They haunted him still, and he swore he would find her again some day. For now, he would settle for blue.
“Now, my sweet,” he hissed between them, moving to circle her, side pressing along her as he continued his predator’s path. He stopped on her opposite side, his dark mouth pressing against her temple so that he could whisper without strain. “Promise me your obedience.” He did not bother to ask for her name in return; he did not need it, not yet.
She was exactly what he needed her to be and nothing else.
Bruise
head like a hole; as black as your soul.