Once upon a time, there had been a ghost with red eyes.
He had come across a young girl who had been mostly forgotten by the rest of the world but one look at her and he had known exactly who she was. The jungle toned dapples always gave it away, those that belonged to her. However, there was something different about the mare before him. Something in her gaze that was flinty, something that stirred when she had looked upon his bare boned skull and the blazing red glow behind empty sockets without fear or open disdain. He senses curiosity here and there’s something else.. Something far more delicious.
Once upon a time, there had been a ghost with red eyes and he reached into the heart of the young mare and looked to see what resided there. And then the ghost had started to laugh, a wild cackling thing that made his skeletal jaws clack together, at what he discovered. Gently, he brushed away all other desires, such fragmented and weak little things that couldn’t compare to the black gem that screamed out at him to be plucked, her heart’s deepest desire.
Once upon a time, a proud Amazonian Khaleesi had given birth to four children. None of them had ever been particularly loved by their parents, a running theme that they all shared. However, that’s where their similarities ended. Bardot had been her mother’s empathy, Cersei had been her mother’s shame. The little brother, the last to be born, had been his mother’s salvation.
And the first born? What had she been?
Her mother’s spite, of course.
Once upon a time, a ghost with red eyes had looked into the oldest child’s heart and discovered that her greatest desire was vengeance and approval had flickered in the glowing crimson light, an eternal smile etched across his bones. For years, he had taken this forgotten eldest child under his own dirty white wing and hidden them both away from the rest of the world. He had shown her that magic wasn’t everything, that there were skills worthy to have that required mere wits and intelligence. The ghost found her heart’s desire was extremely moldable and that she took to manipulation and slyness with natural affinity. Everything else could be learned and learn she did. How to wear a smile that shone through the storm of her eyes while plotting death and destruction of whoever she was smiling at, how to use her looks and body to lure someone in and take advantage the moment their guard was down. From her Uncle, she learned how to kill with only the power of her hooves and the first time she had tasted blood she remembered it had tasted sweet.
Once upon a time, a ghost with red eyes had come to her with news of her mother’s death. He had told her that she had been killed by some sort of mythical beast, a magic user of some sort. The mare had smiled at the news but there was no mistaking the disappointment and anger storming in the cool gray of her eyes. That should have been her kill. The ghost had told her more, sensing what was brewing and wanting to coax it out just a little further. The Ghost told her that her mother had sacrificed herself for another… Her brother. Her fury had always been something wonderful to behold and when she had erupted, destroying everything around them in a fit of rage, he had only laughed and looked on with delight. Yes, their kill had been stolen. Yet there were plenty of ways to still hurt her memory and better yet, those that had mattered to her. The mare is finally ready.
Once upon a time, a ghost with red eyes brought a mare to the forest and released her vengeful spirit on the world that had never been ready for him. Would it be ready for her?
She moves with well practiced silence despite the foreignness of the woods she had found herself in. It is late in the night and only some small nocturnal creatures seem to be stirring in the undergrowth. She is unbothered by the oppressive darkness or the light drizzle of rain that begins to mist against her mahogany dappled fur. The jaguar mare stalks through the night as if she belongs here, has always belonged here, and peers through her long flaxen forelock through cold granite eyes. A rustling from her left draws her attention and when she turns her pretty head, those same eyes look more like storm clouds and there is a faint simper on her dark lips as she calls out in a gentle sweet voice. “Is someone there?” It was better to play the damsel in distress first then show her hand on the first draw, part of her training that is embedded in every fiber of her being, carved into her bones, thrumming in her blood.
Seeing red again
@Star