Masquerade of a Demon

Her head was held high as she walked, the wind creating a motion to her strikingly coloured mane which may have been a mimic of waves crashing down along a distant shoreline. Her steps spoke of a confidence in the strange setting, a graveyard set at the edge of the fields where her kind were known to roam. The cobblestones were unusual beneath her rose and bubblegum hooves, the colours painting on her a mask of someone different.
Someone who didn't think the way she did. Bitterly, it seemed, she liked to taunt those of her kind with cruel intentions. Whether it be jealousy or some flaw in her own self confidence was unknown, it might have been that her mind just worked in a different way. What would she need friends for anyway? If she was just as happy here, in the silence of those long passed, what would the noise and the bother of their concerns ever bring her but annoyance?
She often played the victim, pretending to have hurt herself to lure in those with kind intentions, or those bespelled by her stereotypical feminine beauty. She looked so delicate, so harmless. Normally the night ended in rage, fear, or tears. Never hers, though, nobody had ever beat her at her spiteful mind games. She perched atop a large blocky grave marker, why had someone spent so much money on this? Nobody would miss her when she was gone, even her bonded didn't know her well, so why would it matter? At least it gave grave wanderers like her a place to seat themselves. She honestly didn't anticipate anyone coming here, tonight wasn't a night for play, it was a night for memories. The only thing Locket cared about other than herself.
