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Post by [P] h e o n i x on Jul 1, 2009 0:50:56 GMT -8
Name: Psycho
Age:5
Breed: Andalusian/Arabian/Tiger Horse
Gender:Female
Appearence: She has the slim, elegant figure of an arabian, but her head represents her obvious Spanish lineage. Her coloring is completely unique; she has a black base with the spotted, roanish decorations of a Tiger Horse, along with white stripes crawling up her legs. She has a white blaze, and part of it creeps off to lace around her right eye. Her eyes are a light grey surrounded by ice blue. Her mane and tail are a dark black with no brown traces at all.
Personality:|Easily angered|Doesn't take criticism well|Has very little self control|Doesn't know much about right from wrong|Doesn't like being around other horses|Doesn't have much self-confidence|Loves the dark|
Past: Psycho was born to a kind, light-hearted mare who'd made the mistake of falling for a dark, mysterious stallion. He'd charmed her with his dark, rick voice and convincing words, but he was nothing like he'd seemed. From the day she was born till the day he died and went to burn in hell, he hated her. She was his blood, his very flesh, but he resented her entire existance. The only thing that kept her alive till she was a yearling was her mother, but she could only do it for so long. A month after she was a one year old, she found her mother's mangled body lying on the floor, drowning in her own blood. She'd taken one look at it, and her innocence was gone, and there was nothing at all to fill it with but hate. Pure, unrelenting animosity that fed on her soul and hid just beneath the skin. She'd left that day. Left her mother's body laying there, left her father to his own putrid life, and abandoned everything she'd known. From that day on, she could not block out the voices. Not voices that formed specific words, no, but voices that spun laughter and played it, making it seem like there was someone in her ear, giggling. It only happened when there was the slight rustle of leaves, the brush of wind against the grass. It was as if the wind was carrying the haunting, distorted voice of her mother to her doorstep. As if it wanted to forever condemn her to a life without sanity because of what had happened that day, what she couldn't control. It drove her mad, every day. It pushed her deeper and deeper into darkness, made her want to scream even though she knew no one would hear.
She tried herd life, but she was always deemed insane and banned from the group. There were constant insults, neverending whispers behind her back about her past, why she didn't have parents, how she heard things. She'd often try and convince them, beg them, that she was normal, that there was nothing wrong with her, but there was. She knew there was. And it set her heart on fire, made her burn from the inside out. There was no escape, no exit for it to escape. The anger built up inside her, and never seemed to go away. Eventually she gave up trying to fit in the mold she was desperate to fill, and left to lead a life of solitude. Ever since then, she's walked this earth alone, not quite there, but yet not quite gone.
[/size][/color]Age:5
Breed: Andalusian/Arabian/Tiger Horse
Gender:Female
Appearence: She has the slim, elegant figure of an arabian, but her head represents her obvious Spanish lineage. Her coloring is completely unique; she has a black base with the spotted, roanish decorations of a Tiger Horse, along with white stripes crawling up her legs. She has a white blaze, and part of it creeps off to lace around her right eye. Her eyes are a light grey surrounded by ice blue. Her mane and tail are a dark black with no brown traces at all.
Personality:|Easily angered|Doesn't take criticism well|Has very little self control|Doesn't know much about right from wrong|Doesn't like being around other horses|Doesn't have much self-confidence|Loves the dark|
Past: Psycho was born to a kind, light-hearted mare who'd made the mistake of falling for a dark, mysterious stallion. He'd charmed her with his dark, rick voice and convincing words, but he was nothing like he'd seemed. From the day she was born till the day he died and went to burn in hell, he hated her. She was his blood, his very flesh, but he resented her entire existance. The only thing that kept her alive till she was a yearling was her mother, but she could only do it for so long. A month after she was a one year old, she found her mother's mangled body lying on the floor, drowning in her own blood. She'd taken one look at it, and her innocence was gone, and there was nothing at all to fill it with but hate. Pure, unrelenting animosity that fed on her soul and hid just beneath the skin. She'd left that day. Left her mother's body laying there, left her father to his own putrid life, and abandoned everything she'd known. From that day on, she could not block out the voices. Not voices that formed specific words, no, but voices that spun laughter and played it, making it seem like there was someone in her ear, giggling. It only happened when there was the slight rustle of leaves, the brush of wind against the grass. It was as if the wind was carrying the haunting, distorted voice of her mother to her doorstep. As if it wanted to forever condemn her to a life without sanity because of what had happened that day, what she couldn't control. It drove her mad, every day. It pushed her deeper and deeper into darkness, made her want to scream even though she knew no one would hear.
She tried herd life, but she was always deemed insane and banned from the group. There were constant insults, neverending whispers behind her back about her past, why she didn't have parents, how she heard things. She'd often try and convince them, beg them, that she was normal, that there was nothing wrong with her, but there was. She knew there was. And it set her heart on fire, made her burn from the inside out. There was no escape, no exit for it to escape. The anger built up inside her, and never seemed to go away. Eventually she gave up trying to fit in the mold she was desperate to fill, and left to lead a life of solitude. Ever since then, she's walked this earth alone, not quite there, but yet not quite gone.
