Calliope kept far from the roads connecting Terrastella and Denocte. Instead she stuck to the sea, the cliffs the places ruthless and dangerous enough that few horses linger in such places. She reveled in the sea-spray that would dust her skin, the rumble of the waves against the rocks that promised a storm was coming, that dared to try to sweep her out to sea.
It feels like a battle of a journey, a challenge, a becoming.
It's not until she reaches the mountain passes that she stops to linger, to carve symbols of justice into the charred gravestones of trees. Calliope is covered in soot as she pressed her nose to scattered bone. She's frozen with hate as she feels the smaller bones of birds crunch like sand under her hooves.
By the time she passes the remnants of the once wilds, she's full of rage again. But understanding just starts to eat way the sharp, violent edges of her anger.
There are more payments than one that she journeys to Denote to collect. They are different sins, each terrible and only one feels like a knife cutting through her heart with a broken, dull edge. One is as red as the setting sun or a blood moon. One has broken Calliope as much as she can ever been broken by a thing such as love.
The city is quiet before her when she finally alights on flat soil again and the road in echoes like a hollow thing beneath her hooves. Ahead there is a flash of red, foolish enough to be so easily found when he surely knew she was coming for him.
Calliope feels like a dragon, a thing that might breathe fire and turn him to ash for leaving her behind. Surely no other unicorn but her might have this sorrow and heartbreak raging inside them. It feels like a mortal wound. She moves to walk against a wall of stone that makes some structure she has little use for. The shadows feel like salvation when they cool her sweat.
She's close enough that he might see the rage sparking in her eyes like comets. There is no smile on her face as she taps her horn four times against the stone. One time for each step she must take to close the distance between them. Each of those taps sounds like a word, a war-drum, a eulogy. How lovely her horn sounds when it talks in her rage.
What.
The first echoes, bouncing off her skin, sharp enough to make her grind her teeth together.
Have.
The second rings like a gong and rises over them like thunder.
You.
The third sounds like an end, a peel of a church bell as it tolls the death of an era and the start of something else.
Done.
The last feels like a touch of lightning, a shriek of a storm, as she drags her blade against stone. Her ears lash back against her skull for the sound of her own rage is stinging and too shrill to bear with mortal hearts.
She feels like she might run him through if she pulls her horn off that wall at her side, so she leaves it there and watches him with rage and demand.
Calliope isn't sure she's even breathing as she waits for him to say anything all. The bones and the beach seem like nothing more than a half-remembered dream. Perhaps she's still stuck in the rabid, hateful rift and Novus is a place that doesn't exist at all.
But this, watching him and feeling like her soul is caving in, feels to real to be nothing more than a nightmare.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
It feels like a battle of a journey, a challenge, a becoming.
It's not until she reaches the mountain passes that she stops to linger, to carve symbols of justice into the charred gravestones of trees. Calliope is covered in soot as she pressed her nose to scattered bone. She's frozen with hate as she feels the smaller bones of birds crunch like sand under her hooves.
By the time she passes the remnants of the once wilds, she's full of rage again. But understanding just starts to eat way the sharp, violent edges of her anger.
There are more payments than one that she journeys to Denote to collect. They are different sins, each terrible and only one feels like a knife cutting through her heart with a broken, dull edge. One is as red as the setting sun or a blood moon. One has broken Calliope as much as she can ever been broken by a thing such as love.
The city is quiet before her when she finally alights on flat soil again and the road in echoes like a hollow thing beneath her hooves. Ahead there is a flash of red, foolish enough to be so easily found when he surely knew she was coming for him.
Calliope feels like a dragon, a thing that might breathe fire and turn him to ash for leaving her behind. Surely no other unicorn but her might have this sorrow and heartbreak raging inside them. It feels like a mortal wound. She moves to walk against a wall of stone that makes some structure she has little use for. The shadows feel like salvation when they cool her sweat.
She's close enough that he might see the rage sparking in her eyes like comets. There is no smile on her face as she taps her horn four times against the stone. One time for each step she must take to close the distance between them. Each of those taps sounds like a word, a war-drum, a eulogy. How lovely her horn sounds when it talks in her rage.
What.
The first echoes, bouncing off her skin, sharp enough to make her grind her teeth together.
Have.
The second rings like a gong and rises over them like thunder.
You.
The third sounds like an end, a peel of a church bell as it tolls the death of an era and the start of something else.
Done.
The last feels like a touch of lightning, a shriek of a storm, as she drags her blade against stone. Her ears lash back against her skull for the sound of her own rage is stinging and too shrill to bear with mortal hearts.
She feels like she might run him through if she pulls her horn off that wall at her side, so she leaves it there and watches him with rage and demand.
Calliope isn't sure she's even breathing as she waits for him to say anything all. The bones and the beach seem like nothing more than a half-remembered dream. Perhaps she's still stuck in the rabid, hateful rift and Novus is a place that doesn't exist at all.
But this, watching him and feeling like her soul is caving in, feels to real to be nothing more than a nightmare.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
@Raymond
