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ghislain
female
mixed; saddlebred, bashkir curly, morgan.
flaxen liver chestnut; mane and tail are dreadlocks
15.1 hh
three
avalanche
awinterborn@hotmail.com
mist meadows
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Suffers from severe psychological damage and abuse. She depends on another to keep her sane and chase the madness away, she is literally obedient and loyal to that person. In her mind if she is not owned or controlled she will die. Despite her intelligence she is more child like in her actions, the desire to please over rules her desire to survive.

Sample
Alone; the mad child finds herself alone. That is enough motive for the whispers and fear to burrow from their caves. The static whispers in her mind are a low hum - the fear wiggles likes worms in her belly. Her heart slowly accelerates along with her breath. Dark eyes seek her master, for only he can silence their growth; but he is no longer here. He has left her. Skin itches and feels tight, as if it is being pulled from within. Unsure of what to do without being told, she stands there; at the gates of the islands. Allowing the madness to continue for she knows not how to control it. Blond dreadlocks lay limply at her neck, as a cold sweat breaks the surface of her flesh; the salt air stinging. For it is growing, as her heart beats faster.
In her mind he is there, the weathered old man who kept her before. His sickly rotting teeth in a grin as he laughs at her vulnerability. Since her birth the wicked man has changed so much; from a once handsome blood red man to now a monster whom once held her strings. But despite all the pain and misery he forced her to do, her loyalty remains; until another can be chosen. In her mind she reaches to him, wanting him to soothe her. Tell her to calm, but all he does is laugh; once bright blue eyes looking at her with his own madness before he disappears.
Something is screaming, a child crying at the absence of a parent. It is then she realizes it is herself that cries out. The whispers are now louder, so many; overwhelming her with their demands. She has went too long without another to pull her strings. She is in dangerous territory now, a line that is blurred between complete madness. Her lungs stutter at the inner turmoil. faltering in their ability to function properly. Her fear now feels like razor blades sliding along her innards while the voices yell at her to give in. As legs tremble from the heavy weight of her mind, dark eyes search at the borders for anyone to take it away. Wondering if her madness will be caged or unleashed by the next master that catches her in their web.

ghislain

of nowhere