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My thoughts are the cold kind, I've got stormclouds brewing behind my eyes
There was no warning. There never is when these things happen. Between one moment and the next the universe upended and turned on its head, breaking every fragile illusion of how it is meant to work. The bright sun darkened for an instant as a flash of black and blue like inverted lightning streaked across the clear sky. A stench of stagnant water, mildew and decay suffused the air, and in the trembling instance between two heartbeats the heavens split open and deposited a torrent of water upon the desert sand. It was as though the bottom of a river had been removed and half its content dumped through space and time, like a friendly force eager to help the citizens of the desert in their efforts to improve their situation. Before the lid of an eye had closed and opened again, the hopeful beginnings of a garden had been watered with more precipitation than it would have seen in ten years time, displacing seeds and young plants and scattering the precious soil so many had struggled to bring from afar. Well meaning it might be, but it was hard to say whether the water did more good than damage. Especially as water was not the only thing that came falling from the sky. Centered within the water, enveloped by it as though it was encasing them, a pale shadow tumbled to the earth. A rag doll without thought or coordination, a horse both slight and slender, smacked hard into the sodden ground, bounced once and then lay limp, unmoving under the glaring sunlight. Water glittered on the porcelain hide, every shade of pink and blue exaggerated in the unforgiving heat, pooled around rumpled feathers and soaked quickly into the thirsty ground. For an instant, it looked as though the figure might be steaming, like ice left out to melt on a spring day... But then the vision faded, and a shocking stillness settled over the scene. The little mare stirred. A soft groan cut through the stillness, followed by a raspy, painful breath as air was permitted back into her lungs... then her eyes opened, to stare uncomprehendingly up into the desert sun. and my heart will be blacker than your eyes when I'm through with you |
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It was, surprisingly enough, not the first time that Seraphina had seen someone fall out of a portal. She stood at the edge of what was growing into the Day Court’s garden in abject bewilderment, charcoal lips drawn into a firm line; wet soil splashed her silver coat, and the sudden, nearly overwhelming smell of precipitation hit her nostrils like an oncoming train. She fluttered towards the scattered seedlings almost desperately, nudging them back towards the soil with a sense of nervous urgency, as though she were scared to touch them. Of course, she was not meant to have the time to actually return them to their rightful places, because in a second’s time, something substantially larger and considerably more solid than a bit of water would come falling from the sky. A heap of steaming white feathers and fur came crashing to the ground in front of her. Seraphina jerked back from the little creature, eyes narrowed in a suspicious squint; she risked a glance up to the sky, for the frail thing on the ground in front of her did not appear to be moving, and found that it had cleared abruptly from the sudden darkness that had sent her flying out to the gardens to begin with. Whatever had just torn the sky apart and split the fabric of reality open was gone now, leaving behind a stillness that seemed almost ominous, like the calm before a storm. (Inwardly, she thought that the desert was always so quiet. It simply felt strange in the wake of such violence.) Unsure of how to proceed, she let her gaze fall back to the small equine that had come tumbling through the tear, mismatched eyes scanning her with very little obvious concern. A dainty girl, and a child, though an older one, with cloven hooves, two sets of strange horns, and a tail like a lion. She was a lovely thing, but a breakable thing, and this desert, she thought grimly, was made for breaking – and, conversely, remolding. She saw the girl begin to stir, and, with quiet, deeply-accented words that were likely nothing but cold comfort, offered, “Are you alright?” She tried to sound soothing, so as not to scare the dainty thing anymore than she imagined that she would already be frightened, but her expression remained cold, posture brittle and stiff as winter ice. @Erthë - hardly my best, and for that I'm sorry x.x  I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence 
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