A whisper. Was he listening? Barest breath of a click. Yes he was, Locke promised his prize. Ears leaned forward, straining to catch the barest of noises of metal springs and gears. Almost. Feathers about his shoulders stood fluffed, but his lips held a smirk. Just one more-
“Are you done yet?” It roared into him as if yelled, sending the lock picks scattering in the tumbler, and icing the young thief in cold annoyance. Locke, with his still boyish short cropped mane raises his head from the small lockbox on the patio floor. His reply was more bitter than the wine she’d tried to seduce him with. “No.” Then he tries to remember his favorite sunny balcony was not his to make threats on. “Almost though.” The chestnut slip of a mare appeared through the sheer curtains from the cool shaded room. She was beautiful. Even though he’d yet to actually try them Locke never denied the madam of this house knew how to choose them.
Her (Who was she again? Some typical name- Mercedes maybe?) complaint kept the same whining tone. “But I’m lonely-” That’s when he also remembers that he was not a typical customer here, and perhaps he might put more effort into his attempt to seem such. So his reply loses the frozen barbs. “Alright darling,” (Maybe it was Macy?) “Go fetch some whiskey, and put another couple hours to the tab. I’ll be done when you get back.” Done with pretending he actually had any of the intentions to fix her loneliness issues. Still she (Mercury. Defint-....or maybe Merabelle) giggled and had the skill to fake a blush, before spinning on her hooves to go back in. Locke didn’t bother to watch her go before he turned back to his challenge, pick already clicking into the first slot.
The door closed behind the bought pretender, but Locke was already engrossed back into his task. It was a small box, but a complicated lock. Not that there was anything in it. The madam kept these in the rooms for customers, and she had a key. But that wasn’t the point. Picking locks, was ironically for the boy who had been named Locke, not an easily gained skill. Cutting purses and pulling coins he was a natural talent at. Charming his way through the barricades of a mark’s trust he could do in his sleep. Crafting lies so real he could wear them as a second skin, he had learned without much hassle. Yet when it came to speaking the language of pins, tumblers, and metal the poor youth had always found a lack of desire and natural gift.
It didn’t help that his tutor in that area was a world class bore of an ass: Elihacor. The young colt, just pulled from the streets, had never cared to listen to the old stallion’s lectures. It didn’t help that he took those lessons with….her. And while the old gruff talked theory and drew with the chalk upon the stone wall to show the mechanics of lock type number 9582, she would be there, looking so fucking damn perfect. Soft glowing skin, easy grace in her stance cast in a way a royal can wear regality with such disregard for its worth. She wasn’t a royal, he’d remind himself, but she had ruled over him all the same. The way her hair slipped out from the haphazard bun at the crown of her head to tumble down in a curl against her refined elegant neck. She’d notice him watching of course, turn with that small devilish smile. Picking locks was easy for her, always had been, she had only been pretending to listen. She knew. That mare knew she had him. Gods. She was a bitch….
It was the noise in the hall that brought him to this world again. Found him staring out over the city of burnished white buildings and humming noises, lockpicks sagging forgotten in the lock. Shit. She was still screwing him over. Another noise from the hall catches the chained ear back. Damn. The memories were like cobwebs, clinging now to everything. Through the sheer curtains wavering in the late afternoon spring breeze he could see the door resting against the latch. No need to let her in, and Locke still wasn’t of the mind to take anything she offered except maybe the whiskey, so the young thief turns back to his small lock box, picking past the first two clicks quicker than before. The anger of memories being burned away by the afternoon sun and challenge.
"Speaking."
OOC:: @Reinhart Sorry for the long starter, I've been wanting to dive more into his past, and couldn't resist the temptation. =D Excited for this!
Trey sighed as he strode along the beach, his hooves sinking into the surf. The weather was finally warming up and spring was kissing the trees with green growth. It was his favorite time of year in the realm above the surf. It was a time of new... new growth, new life, new chances. Flicking his golden fluke, he dove into the sea and sighed softly at the feeling of weightlessness that overcame the gravity. Unlike a typical shark, CEF's had developed gills within their natural nostrils. Membranes closed and opened to accommodate the change of oxygen flow.
The depths of the sea here were not like those that he had called home as a pup. That being said, there was a startling beauty to the water that made him smiled softly. Out in the distance, a shark darted through the dark water. It was too far for him to recognize, but it made him feel more at home. A sliver of thought wove through him and he was glad that Pol was not with him. She would be terrified at the sight of any shark. Maker knew that she had been afraid of him at first sight, even with him being more than your typical shark.
Turning through the water like the shark he had seen, he swam back to the beach. Breaking from the surf, he carefully made his way back to land. A soft sigh escaped his throat as he felt the land claim him again. He always felt so heavy leaving his home, the waters that gave him life. "I probably would not have stayed here without the waters that I could claim as my own... Too much dry land is terrible for my pelt." He laughed as he shook his coat dry and gazed about him. His experiences in Novus so far had been pretty quiet... Heck, he had only met a few horses and had yet to find any sign of Polar North. Not that he was holding his breath at this point. "Maker, please make her safe. Maker, help me find her..." He murmured reverently, eyes seeking the warm skies above him as he prayed to the god that he trusted.
Sol swore as the sky started to darken earlier than he had expected. It had been a day of travel, sighting the world and trying to get a stronger lay of the land around. It had been a bit since he had last seen Below Zero and the though of her had him exploring Terrastella. Their encounter with the believed deceased filly had really thrown Bel, making her seem so unlike her usual self.
Sighing and swearing as the darkness closed in, Sol found himself circling lower and lower to try to find a place to land and rest his weary wings. His flaming hooves settled on damp grasses, flames sputtering and fighting the cool wetness. The one positive that he had found was that his hooves did provide a bit of light to see his way through dark areas. But the lands that he had found himself in were so completely new that the massive stallion found himself unnerved.
Peering through the trees that now surrounded him, he carefully folded his wings and tried to figure out where he was going. Through the trees, he noticed a glow that struck him like a blow to the gut. He knew that glow. That glow belonged to the mare that he had found himself growing more and more attached as the time went on. Shaking his ebony and gold locks, he started in that direction, finding that his hooves were dimming and sputtering. "What in the world?" He sputtered, looking down at his hooves as they fought with the moisture that was welling deeper and deeper. "Bel, what are you doing out here?" He asked, his voice not likely to actually carry to the stunning creature that he was heading toward.
@Below Zero
"Speaking." Notes: lmao lets see what fun we create now!
She could be a legend, if the story came from the right mouth, was told the right way. Her story has grief in it, has great and terrible love, has vicious villains, and promises and other such things. But what her story also has is her own darkness – yes, she has wept over the broken bodies of her parents buried six feet under, once begged them to come back, begged while life went on around her and she kept getting older and older until she out aged her own parents. Yes, she did all this, but she also once broke a boy’s heart (“Can I see you again?” “No.”) And another because she thought it was all his fault for making her do it.
Yes, she once stood by helpless as he maimed her father, wailed and gnashed her teeth at the loss of him. Yes, she did all this, but she also reached for another man’s heart with one already in her hand because he made a fool’s mistake of looking her in the eyes and asking for her name.
She is not a myth that deserves telling.
She is beautiful as she stands there, in her desolation, beautiful in the way her wavy blonde mane drapes sadly across her forehead, hiding that heart shaped birthmark (a symbol she was told, of her parents love and devotion to one another) from prying eyes. She has the smile of a mother she barely knows, if only because she hadn't had long enough for her to get to know her.
Spring assaults her senses and Elena would not have it any other way, it was why she came here today. She should be collecting herbs, or building relationships with the citizens of Terrastella, but Elena has allowed herself this day to rest inside her head. “Love is fickle, duty is reliable, both can make a lonely bedfellow.” These words were spoken from Elena’s own mouth, parted from her own lips, laced on her own tongue. She had said it to Lilli that day underneath the Hyaline starry sky when the chestnut mare had posed to her which would she choose. And, in truth, Elena still isn't sure. Reliability had been Aerwir, it had been her diplomat position with Kensa, it had been the falls of Paraiso. Fickle had been Underworld, Tunnel, and magic.
Her head is lowered to touch the flowers below her feet. There sits red tulips and yellow, as if the magic that bleeds in this land had known she would be here. Tulip children they had called them. Spring has brought a feeling of reawakening within Elena and she wants more than anything to be happy here. As the flowers tickle ash dusted nostrils and her body hinges on sneezing, but a laugh finds her instead. She thinks, that this may very well be exactly where she is supposed to be.
For now, at least.
Elena cant yet give thought to forever.
(She was no legend, no myth, it is evident in this moment.)
She is just a girl with flowers and no one to share them with.
* e l e n a
in the dark I’ll pray for the return of the light the sunflower daughter of benjamin and beylani
medic of dusk.
a little death, when petals of her lips dance around your neck.
The spring is new and blossoming, and the sun is bright and high in the sky. There is a breeze, still carrying the chill of the sea with it, trailing its fingers down the streets of the dusk court like a child running with their hands pressed against all the walls of the buildings. Ia relish in the feel of the sun on their back, soaking up warmth like new flower buds.
Terrastella is beautiful, even in early spring. There is the distant sound of waves diving against the cliffs, the call of seabirds soaring above, and every archway seems to be decorated with crawling vines promising that, soon, there will be flowers. If it weren’t for having to travel through the swamp to get anywhere in this place, they might even move to someplace like this.
But Denocte is good to them, and Olympia can’t be bothered with the muck and bugs more than a few times a year. Harmonia just likes the exoctic plant-life to be found around every twisted tree trunk.
They pause in the street, the sun turning their auburn shades of hair to gold. Around them other horses pass, their hooves making staccato beats on the cobblestone. Each one that steals a second glance their way or stops and stares meets Olympia’s dripping, honey gold eyes. Harmonia smiles gently from behind the curtain of her sister’s hair.
The wind picks up the smell of flowers and pomegranates off their skin and drags it down the streets. Olympia drinks in the attention of every eye that lands on them like it is cool water, like she is parched, but Harmonia is trying to move them down the street.
“Remember, we’re not here for pleasure Olympia,” the glass-eyed sister says, “we are here for work.” The lighter haired of the two turns her eyes on Harmonia with an almost sinister pout. “Oh, but who says we cannot do both, dear sister?” The way she looks at the equines lining the streets, bathing in the sunlight, is like hunger, “Just a taste is all I desire.”
Above him the sky stretched like an endless thing, so deep it seems to be inviting him to swim up, and up, and up until he reaches the bottom of it. And below him the entire earth curves gently, tucking itself away at the edges of the horizon like a child being put to bed. The sunlight turns it all blue, the clouds in the distance blurring the line between ground and sky, and Sirius wants to know what it would look like to see the sun breaking open the edge of the world as twilight sets in.
There had been a poet in Denocte last night, pretending to know what it felt like to fly. Sirius had known him to be a liar from the moment he said there was nothing more peaceful, more quiet than the open sky - but there was nothing quiet about flying.
The wind was whistling in his ears, whipping his mane around him like a halo, ruffling the feathers along his shoulders. And each stroke of his wings has him flying higher, and faster, and while the air is growing colder his blood is running hot enough for him to not feel it. Sirius is alone in the sky - save for the bits of stardust still streaking along behind him - for the better part of the morning. Until a tawny blur drops down on him from above with a screech, pulling a bit of his mane free before hurtling away into the open.
But the eagle is not so fast as he is.
As the bird is darting past him Sirius is folding one wing, throwing his body into a sharp turn that has each bone and muscle screaming for relief. And then he tucks them in tightly, feathers against skin, and he is falling.
The wind is a vicious thing, tearing the air from his lungs each time he tries to breathe, grabbing for his wings like it’s trying to rip them from his body. It might have been maddening, if he was not already used to it. If he hadn’t been made for this, if he hadn’t already felt the pain of imprisonment and known it to be worse than this free fall, he might have pulled back and let the eagle fade from view. Maybe if he had not been raised the way he was, his heart might not have leapt at the site of prey, and he would never have known the challenge in the eagle’s wingbeats.
But the thrill of a hunt is the hardest thing to let go of, and the distance between the two birds is closing. Even when all the court is promising him he could be whoever, whatever he wanted, begging him to choose - he is still a hunter.
By the time the ground comes rushing up to meet them both, Sirius has caught up to the eagle. He twists in midair, darting forward to draw the bird from the sky by its wings. With his heart racing - and his prize struggling in his grasp, drawing bloody lines down his chest with its talons, wings thrusting like he’s still free - Sirius drops the last few yards and lands.
For a moment he holds the bird out before him, silver eyes meeting his golden ones, one curious, the other guarded. Both of them are panting, but both have stopped struggling; the eagle stares at him now, wings drooping, beak parted, chest rising and falling quickly. It cries at him once, the weak-sounding whistle just loud enough to grate against his ears. And he continues to stare, for just a moment longer.
Because he has never caught something before, and then gotten to decide for himself what to do with it.
It still feels strange sometimes, living on his own whim.
Finally he lets it go, freeing the bird with a flick of his telekinesis. For a moment it drops, unaware of its release; but then its wings catch the air, and three quick wingbeats later it is rising again.
She could still see the sudden bursts of emerald fire, the heavy smoke of the burning hull of her ship still strong in her nostrils. Behind closed lids, she dreamt; horrible nightmares that stank of charred flesh and bone, the cries of her loyal crew, the stars shimmering high above them with nothing more than a glimmer of sorrow. The sea gods did not save them.. no, they damned them. Their enemy a mad man who dared call himself a pirate king over her own.. her lover. Her mate.
The last glimpse of his face still haunted her as she drifted. Her memories tugged and pulled, showing her how they had all been surprised, terror sinking in and drowning them in fear. So sudden, so unexpected. The perfect target for a night raid in the middle of the wide ocean blue. Her muscles twitched as she remembered the taste of wine on her tongue, the feel of her lover's lips grazing hers before the screams started. Ambushed; their beloved crew taken, under siege. The sharp tang of metal on metal as her king clashed with his cutlass, and she with her own rapier. She would not let their rivals overtake them; her blood had sung a war cry that broiled deep in her bones and her heart. Stronger than the call of the ocean itself, her need to protect and defend burning brighter than the green fire that began to eat away at her own ship. The hull exploding in sheets of wood, splintering as the sea began to drown them.
They were ocean-blessed sea fairers that were drowning drowning drowning; in salt and brine and blood.
She shook, silently crying as her mind relentlessly replayed the memory. Her stomach pitched as she recalled falling; her last view of the ship and her beloved's face as he looked at her. The shock that lined his beautiful features, his silver eyes going wide with anger and grief, and rage before he turned back to take on his enemy captain headlong. Then she had smacked the water, sinking deep below and choking for air before she reached the surface, sweet oxygen flooding her lungs like the bliss of tasting sugar. She recalled searching; for her crew, for something to grab hold to.
She did not remember pulling herself onto a large plank of wood before the smoke coating her lungs and her wounds lulled her to sleep.
Where her skin did not touch the water lapping at her sides, and her back legs still halfway plunged beneath the ocean's surface, heat flooded her skin. Shivers of warmth ran the length of her spine, bright sunlight burning the back of her eyelids as she whimpered, her dreams continuing to replay the terrors of the night before. Dawn had risen, the sky streaked in the colors of morning; and the shores of a new land laid close to her. Unconscious, unknowing. The shore encircled her, the waters becoming shallow more and more as she drifted ever closer to the sandy shores.
The sea princess, the Takarian Queen, was asleep and unaware of where she was and how her crew, her ship, and her mate had fared from the horrors before.
They brush through the crowd like dancers; feather-light, fluid, weaving. Some of the equines chance a second look their way, mostly the ones who have never seen them before. Or the ones who have seen them a lot. They’re young but not unfamiliar with the court and its citizens, being one themselves since birth.
Ia press forward like a current, steps certain and movements easy. Olympia carries her head high, gilded eyes bright and clear in the early spring sunshine. The markets are busy, and the brush of bodies feels like a performance. Harmonia is humming something beneath her breath. She is almost always singing, or humming. It is the one thing she can enjoy doing without fear of being stared at.
When they had been younger, Olympia had been terribly jealous of it. Now, she has so many other attributes that it doesn’t bother her anymore.
They pause for a moment at a stand of apples, glancing over the options. There aren’t many, and they’ve no doubt been imported from some place other than Novus, but the girls are craving something crunchy and juicy. “G’morning, Ia,” greets the merchant, a gentlemanly fellow old enough to be their father. Looks kind of like him, too.
“Morning,” Ia lilt in response, Olympia too busy looking over the options to pay him much attention. Harmonia offers an apologetic smile to the man, waiting for her sister to make her decision. She lifts a nice, vibrant green apple into the air. Tart, just the way Olympia likes it. “Sister, you know that is not my taste,” Harmonia says gently.
It comes out more like a suggestion. Olympia turns back to the apples with a sharper gaze. It would be simpler for them to share a single apple, but her sister likes them sweeter. “We’ll be getting two, today,” she says finally, also pulling a plump red/yellow one from the displays and handing over a few coins to the merchant. He waves them off with a big smile and a hearty chuckle.
Definitely too much like their father.
They glide back into the flow of moving bodies, making their way out of the market. It’s almost time for Ia’s first performance of the day, and they like to get to the venue early to prepare.
That’s when they bump shoulders with someone, pushing almost roughly through the street. Olympia drops her apple and watches it bounce away, undoubtedly about to be crushed under someone’s hoof. “Excuse you,” she says sharply, the sisters turning toward the intruder upon their perfectly pleasant afternoon.
Posted by: Elena - 02-12-2020, 12:01 PM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
every day it feels like I’m holding back an ocean
Home exists for Elena as a feeling more than an actual place. It is the way Marcelo frets over any bump or scrape in the tall grass of Murmuring Rivers, or the feeling of her cousin tucked beside her underneath a Taiga tree. Or it the feeling of mist capturing her pale tendrils as Paraiso’s waterfall eternally plummets towards earth. She has grown less attached to places and more in love with the feelings that she finds.
Elena likes to think that she has learned to live with grief, that she is an expert at how it is supposed to be, what you are supposed to do. But, in truth, Elena has merely learned how to move forwards, to fight the battles that would come to her. Some are bloody and dark, that leave her aching and trembling, while others are calm and Elena manages to escape with her head high and her chest proud, heart unscathed. There are times when she can cast aside her mistakes, others where she lets them live alongside her. And still there others that condemn her and Elena takes her punishment with grace before turning her cheek. It has worn on her, all this time, Elena feels older than what she is, but there is a certain lightness that she finds as the flowers bloom through the snow.
The feelings of spring causes her heart to flutter with the grace and lightness of hummingbird wings. She is golden in this new sun, like Midas’s breath rolling over her skin. She is smiling, and his time, it is not because of spring.
She shared a dream with Lilli last night.
“It was a place where it was always sunset and the sky is always painted in blues and pinks and purples. You could wait all day for the colors to fade but they never do. If anything, they become brighter.”
That is what she had told her.
And so that is what Elena had dreamed.
A world of sunsets, with her family beside her, and Lilli comes up behind her. “See cousin? I told you this place was magical.” And Elena smiles, because she is right, this place was magic, and this was how Elena knew it was a dream, and that eventually, it would end, but for the moment, she had been able to enjoy it. It was a gift from Lilli, and Elena was grateful.
She travels to Dawn, a place not unfamiliar to her, she had gone once before, met Icarus, seen their capital, and their books. But, this time, Elena seeks a beautiful flower that is often seen rising through the snow: tulips. She needs them not for healing or for medicine, but for the simple act of seeing and admiring their beauty, and she had heard they grow within the forest of Delumine. So it is in the forest of Delumine that Elena finds herself today.
The snow has melted, but the ground feels slick and wet, the sun is warm, but without the ferocity of a summer blaze. She feels bright and golden as the sunlight dapples her hide trying to peek through the trees. There is a noisy silence in the forest, as the sound of light breezes tickles the leaves on the trees and finds it space through arching gaps of greens and browns. But it is in the quiet that Elena hears a creaking, as if the trees were moving in a heavy breeze, or as if something were moving them. Tunnel, she thinks because she had met him in a forest and had promised to find her. Frostbane, she thinks because she feels a chill up her spine. Lilli, she thinks because she so desperately wants it to be her.
You are alone, she tells herself.
Though this could not be further from the truth.
* e l e n a
in the dark I’ll pray for the return of the light the sunflower daughter of benjamin and beylani
medic of dusk.
you told yourself that it's not you, it's them
you're one of a kind and no one understands
I don't like it, I don't like it, I don't like it. This is weird, and foreign and to bright and open. All around me it's too bright of a world and I'm clinging to the shadows in a desperate attempt - a desperate plea for them to cloak me - wrap me in their suffocating arms and drown out the light of this too bright world before the radiant creatures burn me with their brilliance and destroy me: the ugly girl. I left the mountains, that was my first mistake, clearly I should have stayed, spending my day with the skelly-buddies instead of out, and about and forced to avoid all of the others around her. What do I do if someone tries to talk to me, if they approach, if they come towards me? Will they even bother? Why would they bother? I'm the scary girl, the ugly girl, the girl best left forgotten. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe . . . I will be okay?
I can't stop my hooves from walking though, as I make my way to this magical island I had heard whispers about - that changes with the seasons and was no in it's third appearance, but it was the appearance I wanted to see - it was this land that could take on a different design and this one meant to be something different in reds and purples and yellows, and I wanted to see nature in such a way that it might be something more unique, something as strange as me, perhaps it would be a new stage of darkness, a new stage of chaos . . . I wouldn't mind a new curtain to draw back to drape my imaginary world in, as I center myself into a stage of my own making where the universe (my version of it) can be limited to just one. A new setting, a call of scenery change. Yes, this island would be exotic, and different - and hopefully not filled with brilliance. Please, no brilliance.
My hooves hit the bridge that led to the odd, revolving island, and as my feet drag (just as much as wings did as they hung limply at my sides) the sound is reminds me of something being sharpened against a rock, like a killer planning a new murder and preparing their weapon. The thought leaves me giddy, more excited for what might be up ahead! Oh imagine, a murder being after me - like in a horror story, a nightmare tale - but this would be real life! Would I run away screaming, or would I eagerly embrace my murderer to be, thanking him for writing me into such a macabre tale. Would it be quick, or slow - painful or painless? Do others wonder how they might day? Or is it just me? Me and my scary mind? Scary girl.
I've heard all the terms for myself, those whispered behind my back in an attempt to keep me from hearing (I've heard them anyways) and the words spat in my face. I've long ago allowed myself to soak in the knowledge that I wasn't normal anymore. Too intrigued by what is considered dark, to caught up in a world with out light - in an attempt to keep from every having to see my ugly face. Ugly girl. Scary girl. Stay away from her girl. I didn't mind, I liked the being alone. And your day goes by so much easier when you no longer have to think or worry about what others say or expect of you. You don't have to primp yourself for hours on in (which was pointless, because you can't make an ugly mare pretty - so why should I bother anyways). You don't have to make sure you look good, you talk well, that you're ready for company. Any of it! It's just me, my skelly-buddies, the spiders and the snakes! What more could I ask for?
My hooves halt at the edge of the bridge as I take in the sea of grass before me. Purple as day old bruising, red as blood, yellow as pus. I start to giggle, the sound high and witchy - but I can't help it. What amazing grass! I rush in, diving beneath the strands as the grass sways around me, colors blending like a festering wound that was getting steadily worse, and my giggle increases in volume. How lovely, how wonderful these colors are! I stand tall, and can barely see over the grass line (thought the matted, tangled mass of forelock half obscures my gaze and I don't bother peering over the line for long). I duck my head low, and giggle once more, feeling like I'm hidden with in the woven lines of a horror novel, a monster waiting for the unsuspecting to jump up.
What else did this beautiful, dark island have to offer? In the back of my mind, I wonder if anyone else sees this terrain as I do - taking in the landscape and seeing the darker side of what these colors could symbolize, twisting what could be innocent hues into something dastardly. The thought doesn't last for long before I wave it away, and my walk continues, my wings creating grooves on either side of my hoof prints as they dragged along the ground, my tangled, matted mass of dark hair seeming to collect new twigs and pieces of broken grass waiting to be woven into the already dirty and defiled mess. I don't bother trying to keep it out of the way - I don't bother with appearance anyways. I see the first tree up ahead, and my hooves take off. The limbs are pale as bone, while the leaves seem to have exploded out from the branches, like the blood of the tree blooming forth. Each ruby leaf seemed to paint a starker and starker contrast against the pale bark, and my giggle returns. Festering wound hued grass, now bloodied bone trees? Who took one of my nightmares and gifted to to me with reality? I must thank them! They've out done themselves.
I practically dance between the trees, my wings now drawn up against my sides, feathers flaking off lazily from where they had been pulled free earlier by the dragging; and my tangled mass of hair seeming to twist around the branches and trunks as I move. Oh such beauty to be seen. I pass by some water, and catch a glimpse of violet - but move on before my reflection might catch my eye (I haven't seen it in years, no point in seeing it now)! Mountain ranges dotted the sky above, the water trailing down their razor formation like violet tears, and then I saw the first creature. I stare in wonder, in awe, in absolute rapture over the doe, ghostly in appearance, half formed like an artist had stopped half way through the creation process. My eyes move to other creatures created in a similar fashion, and their taunting laughter alights upon my ears. My grin turns almost predatory, stretched as far as my equine muzzle can allow as I stand and soak it all in, the way the dead seems to be taunting us in song, trailing through the island in broken forms and ghostly apparitions of decay.
I stand in eager silence as I stare at everything around me, smiling widely to myself. This is beautiful, and magical, and macabre and dark. Twisted and brilliant and I feel my excitement growing! To think I had almost missed out on this. All those times I almost turned around, all those times I questioned this trek? I would have missed this hauntingly dark island and the dead creatures that move along it. Words gush out from my mouth, still high pitched and giggling, almost as eerie as the island itself was in my eyes, "Such beauty, such darkness - even in the light! The trees like bones, spilling such precious blood, the leaves red and sharp like razors! An these creatures, oh these beautiful and morbid creatures. Why you don't even have a properly working head - like they stopped at your jaw and never finished your skull! Can I hug you? I want to hug you? You beautiful, dark and creepy creature! Why do we need the brilliant lights, and radiant creatures walking this earth when this island has all of you! I could stay here, with everything like this forever! With a carpet of grass festering like wounds, and the trees dripping their leaves like remnants of life's essence leaking from wounds. This is AMAZING!" I can't help but giggle all the while, my bright blue eyes wide with wonder, and my hooves carrying me deeper among the red limbed pale trees to see what other scenes this island has created for me!
"Speech" Thoughts
Tagged :: Notes :: I'm never going to apologize for her and her crazy LOL
