[P] Awestruck

[Phoebe]

In all her travels, all the beautiful, lovely, enchanting places she had visited...nothing compared to this.

The young, sunset-colored mare stood within the center of a wide street, her mouth slightly agape as she stared openly at the structures around her. Phoebe was unused to such splendor, such unnatural buildings and formations, every piece of it strange and yet fascinating in the same breath. It both frightened and intrigued her, and the uncertainty, the hesitation, was clear in the subtle shifting steps she took in place, bringing her no closer but also no further away.

Do they live here? The thought rolled through her mind, held guardedly within as to speak aloud in such a place felt like taboo. She didn't wish to break the mystique, to ruin the majesty and ethereal quality that hung over the... What exactly was she supposed to call this place? She had no words for any of it, no proper way to describe what it was that she was seeing. Surely it must have had a name, each uniquely shaped piece of this odd place?

And there in the distance... Phoebe tipped her head back to marvel at the tallest structure in the vicinity, one that she guessed was easily visible no matter where you were in this region. It reminded her somewhat of a mountain except...straighter, more geometrically shaped? Unnatural. "What...is it?" The phrase was whispered from her lips, soft enough not to entirely break the stillness, to be heard really by anyone in the vicinity--though she was so distracted she hadn't taken a proper look around to see if anyone else had happened upon her otherwise empty street.

@Marisol

[Marisol]

he who wants loses everything.

Every time someone new shows up, Marisol feels a little less competent. I should see them when they come in, she thinks; I should know all these comings and goings. Asterion would have known. Or Florentine, or anyone that came before them. With every new stranger whose arrival she misses, there is a new element of danger added, a new degree of heat, rising in the atmosphere. 

But Marisol does not feel any of this when she sees the girl standing in the street. The newcomer, whoever she is, does not spark any kind of fear, or even suspicion. Perhaps that is foolish, but she is so small, and so delicately built: she is colored like the sunset, too, and Vespera does not so reward those with wicked hearts. To look like Her is the highest of all honors.

The city is totally still, somewhere between too late and too early for its residents to be awake. Marisol likes it best this way. It is far more peaceful without the revelry of the citizens at night, far cleaner and more civilized than the dirty noise of the barracks as the soldiers toss and turn in light sleep. 

Marisol breathes in deep, deep, deep: the air smells of a dark green like pine needles, and when she exhales her breath makes a soft gray plume in the cold air, swirling like so much cold smoke. 

Finally she steps forward. At her side, a just-baked loaf of bread wrapped in thin paper crackles in the cold, exhaling steam and the smell of salt. It was to be her breakfast, but there’s enough to share. The girl in her sunset colors is still staring at the citadel, spiraling up into the cloudy sky, and Marisol feels sort of intrusive for watching it. But she is also pleased, not to be the only person in the world still entranced by the sight of civilization.

“That’s the citadel,” Mari calls. Hooves clicking over the cobblestone, wings folded to her side, she moves slowly forward in an effort not to startle her. 

"Speaking."

credits

[Phoebe]

She should have realized the soft click-clicking behind her was the sound of someone approaching up the street; after all, her own hooves made a very similar sound every time she took a nervous, shifting step upon the cobblestones. And yet it was only when the stranger spoke, in a rich, full voice, that Phoebe was broken from her staring with a gentle blink and flick of her ears. With a few answering clicks, the young mare turned enough to look over her shoulder and gaze upon the woman who had spoken.

The lady was impressive. Tall, regal, she seemed to command attention, though not in an overbearing, oppressive way. Phoebe's eyes traveled over the markings that adorned her face, her neck, her shoulder; the spotted wings that lay against her dark sides, hiding their true majesty; the grey eyes that stared right back into her own without wavering--even the misting package that hovered at her side. She couldn't help feeling this was someone important, someone with significance to the region, though she hadn't the slightest idea yet how or why.

As the winged equine's words finally registered, taking a second to be processed, the sunset-colored mare cast a new look upon the tall, spiraling structure that stood over all the others, at last possessing a name for it. "The citadel..." That sounded important too, and no wonder with it sitting so attention-grabbing in the center of things. "I've never seen anything like it." The thought that had been going through her head finally was given voice, and drew a smile immediately to her face. Phoebe did always enjoy a new experience.

But no sooner was she given that small tidbit of information, a bevvy of new questions raced through her mind. "Does it always look like that?  I bet you can see it from really far away. Oh! You have wings--can you reach the top?" Her eyes grew wide with the thought, suddenly wishing for her own set of wings if they would bring her closer to the peak of the citadel. Now that she was learning about it, and from such a presumably reliable source, her curiosity had been piqued.

"Oh, I'm Phoebe, by the way." Belatedly, the sunset mare inclined her head in a small bow, smiling amiably, trying not to entirely forget her manners in her excitement.

@Marisol

[Marisol]

he who wants loses everything.

Mari often forgets how lovely her city is. It is the curse of having a home, or knowing a person intimately: with each passing second, the beauty of novelty fades further, until there is nothing left but the dull and furtive reminder than you have learned too much and stayed here too long. What was once awe-inspiring—the sunsets painted in pink and gold, the rising spires of stone—has become a backdrop for things of more personal importance.

But watching this stranger take in the city, Marisol is washed back all at once to her childhood, when the buildings towered higher and the stars were not so close. She is reminded of the awe that rose in her chest when she was allowed in the citadel for the first time and the rush of adrenaline that came with her Halcyon orientation, the first scuffle on the training grounds with no weapons more than tooth and hoof. A feeling like pride warms her, then, as she wonders at her home and remembers how it felt when she was young; but it is mixed with miserable self-deprecation, for how could she have forgotten in the first place?

With a sigh she comes to a stop at Phoebe’s side. Between them, the air is warm, and Mari finds herself leaning slightly closer to the heat as her other side shivers against the cold wind. I’ve never seen anything like it, the girl says. Her eyes  flicker between Mari and the citadel rapidly, like she can’t decide quite where to look. Neither of us are going anywhere, she wants to point out, wearing half a smile, but bites her tongue. It is only the manifestation of her own jealousy. She will never know this kind of awe again.

The thought is sobering. For a moment, she can only stare into the middle distance, caught between breaths, between heartbeats. She is frozen in place—a predator crouching in grass or the prey that does not quite know how to run.

The girl’s voice snaps her out of it. She introduces herself, and the Sovereign mirrors her slight bow, responding in an easy voice, “I’m Marisol. Welcome to Terrastella.” Then she adds, when Phoebe’s questions finally peter out: “I can, but you can too. There are stairs inside. You can walk up.” Mari’s smile widens as she notes just how wide the newcomer’s eyes have become, and warmed by the sight of it, she beckons the pair toward the building together with one outstretched wing.

"Speaking."

credits

[Phoebe]

Terrastellla. Phoebe repeats the word, the name, within her mind, over and over, and feels something within her answer. The restless spirit that has guided her along rejoices, crying out as it soars through her chest and draws another wondrous smile to her lips. This is what she has been looking for. She isn't sure how she knows, whether it is possibly another misguided interpretation of her own experiences, but the sunset mare doesn't question it. It feels far too good to doubt it, and too comforting for it to be wrong. I think...I think I was meant to be here.

She is still coming to terms with this inward revelation, her expression distant and comforted,  when the mare, Marisol, offers a new, exciting scenario. The moment she hears that she too can reach the peak of the Citadel, Phoebe turns her full attention to the winged equine, her jaw falling slightly agape in her surprise. The answer is unexpected, but in the best possible way. She has only been here for a short time, and already the sunset mare is beginning to love this place. This Terrastella.

As she is silently called forward, in the direction of the ever-present Citadel, she slowly begins to follow, moving with a wonder in her eyes as if she is walking through a dream. Only this is real, her new reality, and it has not fully settled in just what she is doing, what has happened. Still, there is no hesitation despite all of it being so new and strange and just a little terrifying. Phoebe wants to experience all of it, the good, the bad, the wondrous, the overwhelming, and she goes into it all with her eyes wide open.

The majesty of the place seems to fill her, almost suffocating, and disrupts the usual internal chatter within her mind. She is silent, a passenger to this magnificent ride, and merely follows with an eager, excited glint to her bright eyes... At least for a time. As she lifts her gaze to the tall structure standing over them, a single, quiet thought steals through the silence and finds her voice in a gentle whisper, "How far is it to the top?"

@Marisol (Changing tenses, easier to write when they're matching. xD)