My forest is quiet, the lift of the birds taking them far away from these lands to those far to the south. Very little magic exists in my realm, my only will being to avoid those who I see, yet pray they come. What is it that pulls me to them so? Has my heart been so heavy and so void of anything but the empty echoes of its own voice that it longs for something to reply back? I do not want them, but I do, and it is a pull that leaves me alone. It is a wonder that I ever leave the darkness, for it welcomes me like an old friend. It gives me a home and lets me sleep without a disturbance.

Yet it holds me back, for I never want to leave it.

With the gift of the gods’ ivory twisted upon my face I see only sadness and pain. No matter what mask it is, I feel misery and sadness, but this mask turns it into something. It forces it all into an outlet, it bares its teeth to all. It judges no one…save for the single greatest evil this forest has ever faced, the fawn. Little blittering, mooing spotted abominations! They are like a plague. They are immune to intelligence. No amount of hissing or barely missing them with a hoof gets the point across. I could wear their skulls upon my antlers, and all they would do was leap upon me like flames in a forest fire and try to reach the top. I am NOT a plaything.

Even worse, they congregate. They are like little stupid amoebas that can change pretty colors when an adult deer tries its best to drive the evil away with magic. Oh, good, you made it purple! The color of disease! That alone is proof that they must be driven from the forest. I have already been scouring for sacrificial deer for them to follow and cling to…and the only deer worthy of hurling off a cliff is them.

Is it sad I want to kill the only thing in the forest that gives me the time of day?

No, I have decided that this is perfectly normal, and is a part of a healthy deer life. Sort of like a circle of life thing. Deer tries to smack fawn, deer tries to flee from fawn, deer stops early before a cliff and watches said fawn slide to a stop too late. See? What isn’t natural and beautiful about the circle of life?

Forget being alone, I have scheming to do.