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The sullen mantras of the night were dull and adhered aggravatingly but persistently to monotony; though their strident vociferations were lackluster, they clung to that ennui with a fervent resolution that was a paradox in itself. They sang dirges long made trite, threadbare and nearly unbearable in their hackneyed lack of scintillation—even the irritating but colorful histrionics had been worn from their primeval brocades. The entire orchestration was frail and hoary, faded threads clinging together with the jaded and dreary mien of those who have performed a task for far too long and to whom that task has lost all sentimental meaning; such a chore becomes but a tedious chain of lifeless motions, empty, awaiting some revival that would probably never transpire. Yet they stood by their ancient commission, watching with fatigued eyes for their rejuvenation which they prayed would come to pass. No longer did they care – if they ever had cared – if that rejuvenation would arrive in the form of joy or despair, bloom or destruction. They prayed only that the monotone would be broken, the system obliterated, and the manacles that shackled them to tedium would be extirpated. This was all they asked, and humble as that inquiry was, no doubt sizing minutely to other demands, they had been ignominiously ignored for years: thrust again and again to the rear of the line, to wait as others were appeased for less deserving causes. This gross injustice had always lingered like a single putrid drop of acid in a pool of lucid spring water within Phantasm's mind ever since the onset of peace had evinced its reluctance to relinquish its reign. The pale mare had simply not acknowledged it. Tranquility in its own right was splendid, but Honor became stale without its antipodal paramour, Danger. And so, only recently, Phantasm had realized the calling inside her psyche; like a mammoth bear shaking off the throes of hibernation to wreak its havoc once more upon the renascent sphere of existence, she had reawakened to the thrills of evocative passion. Her smile was brutal and ironic, and at last she granted what those mantras had desired all along: disruption. Name PHANTASM Age SEVEN-ISH Gender MARE Breed ANDALUSIAN Harem of choice ANYWHERE INTERESTING Password HMM... *shifty eyes* Mongo? OOC alias JENNY E-mail dire_phoenix@hotmail.com | ||