Pale skin and ice blue eyes glare, loose strands of pale blonde hair topple over thin shoulders. His grin is feral on his desidedly handsome face. Jagged teeth glimmer row after row in the bloody gash resembling a mouth. Pretty pink lips are stained red with blood from his own torn gums and the crimson liquid is leaving a shimmery trail along his neck as it spills past the thresh hold of his mouth. He's deathly thin and is just the same hieght as you, his ribs are pointed and threaten to burst through the skin, and you know that if he were to turn around his spine would be lined with sharp knobs of vertabrea. Hands are curved into claws and you've seen before that "he" is not really a he but an It. Between the striking creatures legs lies no sex, simply a smooth spand of blindingly white skin. Thighs and legs are lined with light muscles and end in talon like feet. He hisses and you know that he means to hurt you. When you were young, he used to tower over you, but now you see eye to eye. Back when you reached his knee, he was much more frightening. Even though now you are paralized with fear, you feel confusion. This beast is so bipolar it gives you emotional whiplash. At times, he appears even more human, and is decently docile, though he rarely speaks in that raspy terrifing-yet-comforting voice, you feel protected and safe and hold close to this graceful monster. But more often than not, he lashes out, simply appearing before your bed, and when you don't remeber ever laying down, you no always, what's going to happen next. Groutesque nails rip open you abdomen and all you feel is a warmth in that area, but your still horrified by the blood specking the walls, the bed, everything in sight. And when you wake up, gasping and scared your hot, not in cold sweats like when you dream of other monsters. You imagine -or do you really?- feel eyes on you from the darkest part of the room, and even though you shake and hide beneth the covers, you get that disturbing since of comfot again, and when you fall back asleep, you see the sweet face of your friend, Mr. Terror, or as he whispers in his smooth rasp like he did so many years ago, Rashidi. Now your afraid to wake up, and you forget the meaning of his name, but as always, in the warm light of morning, his title is remembered again. Rashidi-- counsler.
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