In the shadows of the trees, a dark figure lurked. Unnoticed, she seemed to fly through the trees. " TAZANNA! long time no speak! " She called out, barely revealing herself from the forest. Her own shadow lay draped across her hide, and falling to her feet every time she took another step out into the open.

Splinters+++

Tazanna bolted upright after hearing her name and the hooves on the ground.
"Who.....Splinters"she asked unsure

Splinters dropped her jaw, as if to try and grin. Though her face was made of stiff bone, it never hurt to try. " Yes, it is me. " She snorted in reply. Her figure became less dark as she emerged completely from the darkness.

Splinter==Tazanna smilled "It is good to see you old friend"she said bowing her head slightly

"She left already"her voice confused.
"I thought she went to find you"she said honestly
"She did ,didn't she?"

Royalty indeed.
He claimed the world as his kingdom. A chessboard upon which he stood as king and invisible hand. Forever moving pieces one way or another. Before packing them back into their little boxes.

He gave a small nod of the head in return to her bow. He had very little to say.
He made his way out of the water, and the fur of his limbs did not even seem wet.
An ear, turned, slow and quiet.

The butterflies which fluttered about avoided him, This creature which smelled of lapping flames.
He turned a ruby eye onto one.

'Silly creatures' was his silent opinion.

Tazanna let out her own rumble of displeasure at Splinter"When she left she was in good health"she said annoyed that she would doubt her

Arrogant...Maybe. Maybe. But, not needlessly so. No, maybe he was not so arrogant really. He was proud. yes, he was proud of what he could do, and humble about those things he could not.
Whether or not she ignored him was of little importance to the red creature. He did not spend his time working to impress those whom held no interest in him as he was.

The fur at his rump twitched, hardly a 'tail' at all.
He extended his neck, mouth opening for a moment.

A single smoke ring.

No, he was not irate at the butterflies for shunning him. It was only natural to run from fire.
His eyes fell closed, inhaling deep and slow.

_{"Tzutujil Mayans in Guatemala speak of simultaneous Twin Realities: the world of dreams and the world of work. These worlds are likened to the opposing wings of a Butterfly: the dream world is one wing, and the awake world is the other. They believe the wings must connect at the Heart for the Butterfly to fly and live. Real life occurs because of the interaction of the wings. The Life is the Butterfly's Heart. Life, like the Butterfly's Heart, is kept alive by the two opposing, mirroring twinlike wings."}

he spoke at last. His voice soft and deep and just a bit slow. The movements of his mouth out of time with the words. As if the movement was just a formality.


_{"But what happens if one wing grows larger than the other. What happens when dreams and reality begin to melt together?"}



He inhaled again, slowly.


_{"I once dreamed I was a butterfly. And oh when I awoke. I could not decide if I was a Me dreaming I was a butterfly. Or a butterfly dreaming it was a Me. How can I be so sure of what is real. Is this truly just a butterfly's dream?"}

{I can take the shadow away. It's just as big as your text, it's just shadowed xD it helps to highlight it}

"I prefer moths" blunt in his words as ever.
"glittering pale butterflies of the night. Shun the burning sun." he smiled.
"Life? Butterflies are often seen as messengers of the dead. Carefree creatures. Carefree, uncaring. The butterfly never meets its mother. It must survive independently and remains a stranger to affection. An animal nurtured by mother's milk, however, is dependent on another for its basic survival. A child who grows up in a cold and detached home environment is similar to the butterfly, in that kindness is sparing. Once an adult, it will be very difficult for that person to show compassion."

"Little water butterflies, Fluttering moths of flame. What an opposite" so calm for one of fire.
"creatures of the night. Yes. Maybe"

There was that explosion again, needle sharp strands of fur floating to the ground.

A cardinal sang. And with the snap of an elegant wing, the silver and red creature was gone amongst the pines. Though the trilling lasted for a good long while before it finally faded into nothing.

{{wee~ I'm on a side account~ *old spice whistle*}}

Fire indeed. Oh yes. Fire, not boiling constantly, merely building.
Volcanos did not erupt every day.

----

{{If you don't mind I'd be happy to switch to the character on this account now}}

{[wee~ I've been bored all day xD]}

He's a bit like a snake.
No, he's not scaled, he has all four legs, his tail isn't even amazingly long. Longer than a deer's? a bit, but smaller than most dogs'.

He's like a snake, because he is for one, in many ways, long.
His legs are long and thin, head narrow and refined held up in a graceful way atop and long slender neck. His coat has been groomed to perfection, not a hair out of place.

His eyes glimmer in their sockets, brilliant neon green. Like acid eating away at emeralds.
His ears turn a bit, long, beside antlers that are also long.
Very large, long and thin and slightly brittle looking, like old dead coral.

A small branch breaks away, but soon regrows. It crackles as it comes back.

His hooves hardly disturb the water beyond a few stray ripples, the fish swarming away from him.
The dragonflies zip away as well, as do the frogs. Indeed, even the plants seem to bend away from him, as if attempting to get as far away as possible.

He bends his head low, runs his muzzle over a cattail. And it bends closer now.
A demon's touch can be intoxicating when exposed to certain areas. Yes, it's often said that a demon's lips have the ability to stain a soul itself.

The light seems to be eaten away around him.
It's like an illusion, almost not there, the sunlight bending away from the darkness of his pelt.
He doesn't seem to be paying too much attention to the doe, not yet. He's more subtle. Yes, more subtle than that. He's a watcher, and a waiter.

_{“I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting around in the sky; then I awoke. Now I wonder: Am I a demon who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a demon?”}

his voice is smooth, like cold silk. It's an inhumanly pretty sort of sound. His head tilting up to inspect the clusters of butterflies. Remains up even when they clear, staring at the sky.

Slowly his head shifted down again.

_{"That butterflies should symbolize life and rebirth. Caterpillar to cocoon."}

he blinked, eyes ringed with long lashes.
_{"In it's cocoon, a caterpillar breaks down completely. It is like liquid flesh. And slowly it rebuilds itself, casting away the excess upon escape. But, if the caterpillar died. How can we know that the butterfly is even the same creature that first went into the cocoon? I suppose we shall never know"}



His movements are almost dancelike as he moves.
He doesn't move closer, merely a few steps to the side. Flashes his tail behind him.


_{"Madame butterfly so wounded. Doth your man shout an apology, no madame butterfly. Oh fleeting butterfly. Thou hath ripped thine own wings away. How selfish, how selfish, for you did have a child"}

he is speaking of the old play of course, 'madame butterfly'

It's a personal favorite of his.

Mostly because he knows the girl's soul would have been delicious

_{"I'm not your mother's demon. I could if pleased. The purer the soul the better the taste. No, I could harm you. The point is that I won't. I'm in the same boat as death. I have rowed many across the river Styx myself. Please do not speak down to me as if you know me. It's very rude."}

he wouldn't gain anything. He doesn't want anything. He isn't cocky, he isn't needy. His morality isn't black and white, the idea of eating souls isn't wrong to him, the same way that a lion eating a young zebra isn't wrong to the lion, it's a matter of vision.


_{"You, you're haughty"}

he notes though.

From his perspective?

She is.

Here she is speaking down to him, when he has not made a single aggressive motion, has not threatened her, he has not even told her that he does eat souls.

He speaks only of what he does know. That's his strength, he knows what he knows. And he knows what he does not know. He has not spoken a single word about any subject stating that he thinks he knows otherwise.


_{"Madame I have not spoken of anything that I don't know about. In japan, butterflies are symbols of death and rebirth. That's how the lifecycle of butterflies does work. And nobody can know if they have the same memories. That is the plot of the opera madame butterfly"}

he continues slowly.


_{"What have I said that is the least bit threatening or that makes me seem like I don't know what I'm talking about?"}

his head tilts, honestly curious.

He hasn't done any of these things in his opinion, and he knows it.

He bows his own head light and low. He gives true bows to no one but his contractees.

At that he settles himself into the grass, that which touches him seems darker, in the same way the light bends from him, it's a strange effect, but interesting.

_{"Of course"}

such things are easily forgotten.

His tail flicks behind him gently. He's completely at ease. He has no reason not to be.
A bird trills and his eyes close slowly to enjoy the sound.

He sings slowly under his breath. It's soft latin.
He has a beautiful singing voice, spills from his mouth like water from a stream.

_{"Lacrimosa dies illa, Qua resurget ex favilla Judicandus homo reus. Huic ergo parce, Deus: Pie Jesu Domine, Dona eis requiem. Amen."}

it's short. And it was never really written to be a song anyway.

He looks at the doe, sings again, english this time.
<sub>"Tearful that day, on which will rise from ashes guilty man for judgment. So have mercy, O Lord, on this man. Compassionate Lord Jesus, grant them rest. Amen."




"I don't find the lord so merciful myself. Quite frankly I believe that he's a rather unkind person, but then, I would, wouldn't I? it's all a matter of perspective."</sub>

Hs head tucks down, reasts against his own throat like a resting bird.


<sub>"Santa Krishna Karmita Rie Ilgi Magida Fidia

Lacrimosa silently, Your sins will haunt you.

Canta Via Namari Dista Doche Ta Filda, Amari, Canta Via Namari Dista Doche Ta Filda, Amari Di Noche Ita

So close your eyes, Forget everything, Until the pain will gradually subside.

Lacrimosa Orde Miri Cache Adobi Mara Chika Italdi Yoake Afiri Kaditas Ordia

Lacrimosa endlessly, For you poor unfortunate soul, For you wont ever again will see those happy days, Youll be burdened by your sins.

Arta Via Lacrimosa Dies Illa

Tearful that day

Canta Via Namari Dista Doche Ta Filda, Amari, Canta Via Namari Dista Doche Ta Filda, Amari Di Noche Ita Arta Via Esta Aa.

Lacrimosa broken heart. You will never be answered Lacrimosa. Lacrimosa as I fell"</sub>



He stops then. Licks his lips.

_{"Lacrimosa is one of my favorite words. Latin, meaning, 'to cry' or 'weeping'"}

_{"I've had many many years to practice"}

he replies. Ears twitching. He adjusts a front limb, folds it a bit more beneath him.


_{"Many try and avoid the company of demons. Likely for good reason"}

he isn't being open at all, of course, his name says a lot about him. Secretive, and reserved. He has not even offered his own name yet. Of course not.

His true name is special. He has never given it away before.


_{"Tell me, Madame butterfly. What is this forest like"}