It was nearing, whatever the magic wanted him to experience.
His time with the relatively companionable presence would be coming to a close, and he wasn't sure how to feel about such a departure. Of course, he had known from the beginning that it was not a permanent magic, that it was not something that he would be saddled with for the rest of his life. Yet that did not change the fact that he had grown used to the ebb and flow of the little silk string that was anchored in his chest. It didn't mean that he had started to draw comfort from it when he got lonely in his travels - and gods knew that the stallion got lonely often enough.
Many thought that his self-imposed exile was selfish, and maybe it was, but it was also painful. Camdis Lohir, first of his name and first of his kind, Twin Soul, Lone King, Bastard Monarch; the list went on, each name growing more cruel, more mocking as his citizens, his people continued to see what a failure he was without the counsel of his Sister-Queen. At times, he had wanted to fall to his knees before his nation, to beg them to understand that he had no choice in the matter, that he had been weak and blind and half dead at his birth. He had no voice, he had no control, he hadn't wanted Camdis' life to be traded for his own.
He never asked for this mantle, never asked for this crown, never asked to be the creature that was forced to break tradition and bow to the agony that had ripped his soul from the moment he sat the throne.
But he knew that it would have been futile to explain. They thought him weak, and so he was. They thought him cruel, and so he was.
Once, he had loved his people, loved them more than he could fathom. Once, he would have died for his people, would have splattered what had remained of his blackened, wretched heart across the razor edges of his crown and died grinning, knowing that in that action, he had not failed.
The stallion scoffed and shook his head, who was he fooling? Once, was no thing of the past, he would continue to love for his nation, to ache for them, to feel their absence so sharply that at times it felt as if he couldn't breathe.
His hooves slowed to a stop, silvery eyes gazing out at the plain but seeing nothing beyond his guilt and his bitterness and his betrayal. He had been a mistake and he had been a terrible one. He had left his children and his wife to govern a kingdom that would rip them to shreds if they had the chance, all because he was too weak to wear the crown that he had been painted in his own twin's blood for.
"To hell with it. To hell with everything."
His time with the relatively companionable presence would be coming to a close, and he wasn't sure how to feel about such a departure. Of course, he had known from the beginning that it was not a permanent magic, that it was not something that he would be saddled with for the rest of his life. Yet that did not change the fact that he had grown used to the ebb and flow of the little silk string that was anchored in his chest. It didn't mean that he had started to draw comfort from it when he got lonely in his travels - and gods knew that the stallion got lonely often enough.
Many thought that his self-imposed exile was selfish, and maybe it was, but it was also painful. Camdis Lohir, first of his name and first of his kind, Twin Soul, Lone King, Bastard Monarch; the list went on, each name growing more cruel, more mocking as his citizens, his people continued to see what a failure he was without the counsel of his Sister-Queen. At times, he had wanted to fall to his knees before his nation, to beg them to understand that he had no choice in the matter, that he had been weak and blind and half dead at his birth. He had no voice, he had no control, he hadn't wanted Camdis' life to be traded for his own.
He never asked for this mantle, never asked for this crown, never asked to be the creature that was forced to break tradition and bow to the agony that had ripped his soul from the moment he sat the throne.
But he knew that it would have been futile to explain. They thought him weak, and so he was. They thought him cruel, and so he was.
Once, he had loved his people, loved them more than he could fathom. Once, he would have died for his people, would have splattered what had remained of his blackened, wretched heart across the razor edges of his crown and died grinning, knowing that in that action, he had not failed.
The stallion scoffed and shook his head, who was he fooling? Once, was no thing of the past, he would continue to love for his nation, to ache for them, to feel their absence so sharply that at times it felt as if he couldn't breathe.
His hooves slowed to a stop, silvery eyes gazing out at the plain but seeing nothing beyond his guilt and his bitterness and his betrayal. He had been a mistake and he had been a terrible one. He had left his children and his wife to govern a kingdom that would rip them to shreds if they had the chance, all because he was too weak to wear the crown that he had been painted in his own twin's blood for.
"To hell with it. To hell with everything."
