If the winter had suffered Delumine a kiss, then Veneror was the recipient of a passionate embrace. Snow lay thick and frigid upon the marble expanse of the cathedral, each frozen surface glittering with thousands of crystallized molecules. The sun did little to promote warmth amid the icy earthbound realm, serving only to cause a searingly bright reflection to burn its way into the eyes of any creatures unfortunate enough not to squint or avert their eyes. 

One such creature was making her way toward the precipice, golden eyes shining rebelliously back at the glistening snowfall. Llewelyn refused to look down as she moved, not from practicality, but from plain principle; what sort of woman walked with her head bowed, eyes downcast, cowed by the world around her? A shameful sort. For while the mare adhered to her own strict code of femininity and ladylike behavior, there was nothing in that code that held the gentler sex as anything but powerful. 

After all, it took a lot of time, energy, and patience to deal with a constant string of expectations and maintain one’s composure with such practiced effortlessness, did it not?

So she strode onward, posture upright and movements impeccably measured, her favored emerald cloak draped elegantly over slim shoulders. Throughout her travels, Llewelyn had taken pains to prevent the shining tresses that hung from her flexible tail from dragging through the snow or from taking on any unwanted passengers. As the mountain breeze ran freezing fingers through the hairs, she was thankful for her efforts, noting how wretched it would be to have one’s tail laden with icicles and twigs. 

Entering through the brilliantly carved doorway and into the dim innards of the cathedral, Llewelyn allowed herself a short pause as her vision adjusted to the candlelit interior. Candles and statues of each god and a few saints peppered nearly every surface while tapestries and paintings reigned over the wall space. It smelled of different offerings left by the children of each nation - Honeysuckle and citrus for Dawn, cinnamon and cardamom for Day, lavender and clove for Dusk, and jasmine and primrose for Night. 

And yet... 

Beyond the melted beeswax scent of the candles and the always-present musty smell that accompanied old buildings, there lingered an acrid aroma. It wasn’t overwhelming, but after noticing it, Llewelyn couldn’t seem to get it out of her head. It was distracting, that smell... Like over cooked meat and charred bone. She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips, stomach souring as she realized that in all of her visits to the mountaintop citadel through the years, it had never smelled any different. 

What did it mean that now there was change?

Of course, she knew of the nonsense that occurred between the Courts of Day and Night - their cliche rivalry had been all the talk between the commoners and courtiers alike while it had lasted; Maxence vanishing in battle, a Warlord Queen taking over, blood baths and a coup from some silvery stallion who fancied himself a Raven or some such idiocy. Indeed, she had keenly listened in on every whisper or thimbleful of information she could get. 

But what else had changed when the world was watching the sun claw at the moon?

What did it mean that Llewelyn didn’t know if she wanted to find out?