Desreal: To my conundrum;

“I’ve met Cyan,” he says quietly. He knows how persistently the chemical anomaly sought him out before they actually met; this was intentional, for Kurai also has an odd compulsion to observe.

He was, and still is, insatiably curious about his odd grandson.

But it is Cyan’s mother that preoccupies him more, now – typically he is able to gauge the reactions of those he encounters. It’s not hard for him to conjure one. He is, after all, huge, scaly, and about as obviously malevolent as water is wet. But she is like him, in a way. She is like him without his pride. She is as warped, as twisted, as cruelly intelligent, but she is a Lurker who crouches, brooding, on the fringe of society.

He stands, his wings held relaxed and half-open against his sides, defiantly Nightmarish and somehow reveling in his ancient, haunting spectacle.

“Horses talk,” he says now with a smile that reveals a corner of a short, glinting fang, and a shrug of a metallic shoulder. “You were once associated with my son Baraqel and for that I was going to kill you.” he says it carelessly and freely, and he knows as he says it that it probably won’t frighten her. “I’m not sure whether or not I will,” again, he speaks with a soft, deliberate ease, his fiercely handsome head inclined slightly to one side and his forelock spilling across a white eye, “But I do not think so. I wonder about you,” he takes a step, passing in front of her, examining her from the side as if another angle could somehow shed light upon the enigma of her character.

She looks distinctly equine, but she feels inescapably like him. “What created you? You are not old enough to be have been destroyed by Time as I have been. Why, then, are you the way you are?’

Why, he wants to ask, are you a nightmare akin to himself, without visible cause?