DESCENT { Selven }

[Shade]

darling, i'm a nightmare

M E D E A

dressed like a daydream

Rip. Rip. Rip.


Her bloodstained teeth held the pelt between them, delicate as she went about her work of separating pelt from putrid flesh. It might have been a waste, the mare's belly so bloated that it had already burst and the stench was enough to make one sick. But it was too pretty, too...perfect for Medea to pass upon. These new beings on the lands had such pretty colors on their pelts, while Medea was dark as a starless night. How unfair, knowing her colorful personality. How unfair in all things it seemed, although even in her darkness...she had made a name for herself. No longer the silly foal with the silly name. Fever. She had been once, a shy and curious filly against a grulla mother. She might have never known the darkness except for one equine. Selven. The names flashed against her memory, a painted stud, the first to show her where her true passions lay. Her head jerked again, tearing the skin away from the muscle and sinew beneath once more, bones rattling in her mane.


It had been a long time since she had thought of Selven, and perhaps longer since she had seen him in person. Rumor had it that he still lived, making quite the name for himself amongst the equines here. It was good. Someone needed to. But not Medea, no...she was quite content with her life in solitude. Gone were the days of childish collections of foals and pelts, replaced by a more pressing need. Loyalty. Even in the end, Nephilim had disappointed her. Nephilim. His name seared across her memory like a flame, his passing gifts raw and festering on her hide. He had crossed her, had sought to leave her, but she couldn't allow it. If she were going to be alone, it would be on her own terms. So she had killed the painted bone collector's son, and it had grieved her in a way.


Rip. Rip. Rip.


Her teeth gnashed upon the pretty flesh, a scream of rage leaving her lips as it tore in the wrong place. She dropped it in disgust, crushing the skull with one stomp of her hooves. She beat the dead as though it were the living, throwing her weight into her anger, her rage. Perhaps it was unbecoming for a former queen, usually eerily calm, but her descent into madness was bringing far more than she ever anticipated. Plagued by those that she had killed, especially the bone collector's son. He hovered ever near her, loyal to her in death more than he had ever been in life. She lunged in his direction, a mad shriek leaving her lips as she chased the specter back into the trees.


"You will not kill me yet, bastard! Betrayer!" Her voice raised, rough and gravelly as she stood taking in deep breaths. Putrid air filled her lungs, her crown thrown as the bones rattled in her mane.


Rip. Rip. Rip.


Went her sanity.


ooc: o.o 
tagged: Selven/Fallen
words: 492
muse: good...I think?