teeth the size of piano keys

[[MEGan!]]

RIDDLE


There was no living creature as foul as I

Rough and brown, shadowed by the night, dead and decaying, its limbs stretching up, up, into the black sky in which no stars shone. Vines wound their way up its base, clinging to the bark like a frightened child, fingers entwining into the trunk. A flock of night birds spooked and shot out of a patch of grass, flooding the skies with their terrified screeches, crashing up through the canopies. The thing that frightened them moved forward, massive body towering, the mare's coat as black as pitch. The darkness swallowed her, or rather, she symboled darkness. Hooves, grey and jagged and massive, thudded against the earth heavily; her legs moved steadily and with a swiftness, powerful muscles rippling; her body, hefty and powerful, stretching all the way past twenty four hands; a neck intertwined with muscle that held her proud head, ears flicked back; eyes hardened with an bitter glaze, slate eyes with a black rim around the pupil that reached outwards to the ashen rim of the iris. Her face held no expression, black tendrils rippling in a shadowy cascade, moving fluidly over an abysmally dark canvas.

Yet if you look closer, there's something else. Her face, the fur and skin worn away to solid white bone, was terrifying - jagged teeth potruded and deadly four inch fangs curved savagely. Her left shoulder was layed open, achromatic bone flashing in the darkness; a similar "wound" masked her right hind leg. Her body was gaunt, deathly thin, ribs prominent and muscles sinewy and thin. Dew claws curled sharply out on each leg from within the heavy feathering of her hooves.

She was something less than alive, something more than a horse, a hopeless molecule floating on the border of life's atmosphere, stuck in a world she cared nothing for.

And now, she entered these lands, giving way to it. A gust of carbon dioxide spilled into the still air around her charcoal body, one that matched her sooty heart. Malignant eyes flicked across the land, arched nape unwinding slightly as her pace slowed, halting suddenly. She inhaled, so many different scents stinging at her nostrils. There was no expression on her face - how could there be with no skin? - blackened forelock swaying over her suddenly narrowed eyes. A disgusted snort rattled her larynx for a moment, then silenced, and she lurched forward into motion. Ashen hooves, ragged and massive, beat rythmically across the terrain, wandering aimlessly in a swerving pattern. As she breathed, one scent slowly dominated, sinking into every pore of her senses. It didn't alter anything about her; the steady pace, her lifeless yes, a calm, listless demeanor. Although, very coindidential, whoever held such an intoxicatingly heavy scent was right in her line of fire. He was close, but the fact didn't annoy or interest her. It didn't effect her. But a tiny piece of her mind did light, and her ears twitched slightly. A low hiss seethed from her jaws, and her mouth yearned for blood. She would stop, yes.

And so she did as the massive hellion came to sight, or rather, she slowed her pace to a prowling walk. The hiss that had died down now slipped into a low growl in her throat, and if she had a face, a twisted snarl might have writhed over cracked and blistered lips. Might. Or, it may have been impassive and careless, only harsh and belligerent eyes able to speak of her intentions, as they did now with no other ways of conveying silent emotion. She was nearer now, and halted, a silent beast of terror. Her tail lashed at her flanks, and her half skulled head dipped for a moment before jerking up as she studied the brutish thestral before her.

Another moment of stillness passed, the frigid night holding a silence that seemed to ring in one's ears, before the decayed nymph made a verbal contact. "Speak," was all she said, the word breathed into the night on a raspy voice dipped in rancor and stone. The moon illuminated her chalky face as she shifted, scraggly teeth stained yellow and red with wear and tear. The dunes rolled in waved behind her, seeming shape shifting and hollow in the night. The sparse grasses that grew in patches dusted her spidery legs, and for a moment her brutish eyes, masked by a thick, unkempt, bedraggled forelock that stretched into a dreaded mane down her neck, wandered downwards to peer coolly at the nuisance - but they quickly snapped back to the hellion.

She took a step closer, breathing him in, dangerously near. A very haunting force, indeed, hovering so close. Her jaws parted, and a growl finally broke, a lust for that blood that she no longer held within her beating in her frazzled brain. A shudder rippled down her spine, and she hastily ripped her muzzle away, breathing loudly as a hoarse snicker slipped from her throat. She reaked of death and rotting corpse, a rope of saliva swinging from her jowls and splattering onto the pebbled ground beneath them. Her body seemed to be in convulsions, the shudder that had started never ceasing. His warm blood being so near was so teasing.

Riddle, this undead, gruesome mare, was different than most Demons. Most satisfied their hungers when they needed it, when they yearning for a true life was too strong; her's was never ending. Your normal Demon would have avoided the Thestral before her, his presence being painful for their deadened yet cold minds. She didn't care. He was a potential meal, flesh to feed her heart. For Demons need not eat - oh no, they are long dead. They feast only to satisfy a deeper thirst. And Riddle's was constant.

Yet there was another thing that set her apart - control. When "hungry," Demons simply go rabid, slaughtering any who are near and gorging themselves, their stomachs bottomless pits. She would rather pick them off, let them suffer and share her pain. Rip their spines from their body and lay out their intestines for the world to read. Crack at their skulls and slice at their live, weak bodies. Oh yes, she was something....else.

and all of my poems were false.