fill this space with idle words

Harlowe D'Angelo · 08-18-2010, 11:36 PM

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Word Count :: 415

Though Harlowe was quite far from perfect, one might never have guessed at the madness blazing brightly within him. It was an unstoppable flame—his ancestors had kindled the fire and lit the fuse long before he was born. That tiny capacity for violence and inflicting pain that exists within each living creature had been ignited in Harlowe, but he saw this as only a victory—Rio had been given to him as a trial, a temptation. His mother, perhaps the only water that could have doused this flame, was long gone, and Larkspur had only served to foster and strengthen it within Harlowe. The young boy himself could not have determined his own issues; he saw nothing wrong with the test and challenge he had completed. He was perceptive enough to realize others would not have understood it as he had—they were blind to the calling and they were blind to the reality.

One of the things Harlowe liked quite a lot about Dahlia de Mai was its proximity to the city; Phoenix Valley had also been close to Halifax, of course, but Harlowe preferred the western side of the city to the eastern half; he had long ago discovered the university and the library and they were amongst his favorite places in the entire world; Dahlia de Mai's territory provided rather easy access to this area. Unsurprisingly, however, Harlowe was no navigator, and he had gotten hopelessly lost in trying to find the same place he had been perhaps ten or fifteen times before; he was on the complete opposite side of the city now, wandering aimlessly. A strange scent entered his nose—there was an almost impalpable pull toward it, one that Harlowe did not immediately recognize. He knew only that his feet had turned and he had begun walking in a new direction, strung along on his way as if guided by invisible strings.

Before long, he found he was wandering through headstones—he knew what such a place was, of course, but these were the human dead here; there was no reason they should be revered or treated with even a little respect. The cream-shaded man continued along until movement caught his jade-tinted eyes, drawing them to the large figure of a dark horse, meandering through the headstones. The youth looked at this creature curiously, peering about to try and determine an owner; the equine's coat was shiny and it was well-fed, indicating someone was taking care of it.

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