She’d settled into a routine.
Seraphina had risen long before the dawn and departed the Court for the desert, hoping to make her way to the ocean before it grew too hot; she’d found that her dark coat granted her few favors in the realms of day, and she knew just how unforgiving the Mors could be, all of her years of experience navigating the sands aside. Regardless of whether or not the Day Court – or any of the courts – had a Sovereign, someone still needed to patrol its borders. That had been part of her job during the reign of the last Sovereign, and Seraphina imagined that, until she was told otherwise, it would remain part of her job. She reached the shore just as dawn began to peek over the edge of the horizon, casting rays of dull, blue-grey light across the sands. The beach was littered with driftwood and dead jellyfish, tell-tale signs that a storm had passed through not long before she had arrived. Sucking in a breath of salty, humid air, a sharp departure from the suffocating dryness of the desert at night, she began to comb her way down the shoreline, examining the wreckage that the storm had washed up.
When she first caught sight of the pony, body splayed awkwardly across the sand, Seraphina wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking at. She approached the unidentified mass cautiously, at first, but she soon identified the greyish mass as a body and the two black masses at its side as wings, and, for a moment, she thought that she would have to give the thing an impromptu burial. A few more steps and she realized that its small sides were heaving – evidently, the storm hadn’t claimed another casualty. With the way that the pony was laying, partially obscured by water, she could only imagine that it had crashed in the storm. Seraphina imagined that the most reasonable thing to do would be to see if it was conscious, figure out its intentions, and bring it back to the court, assuming that she could figure out a way to move it, or it could walk on its own. With that in mind, she strode over to the limp creature’s side, odd eyes darting over its – her, she realized – frame thoughtfully. The pony was stocky and small, as might be expected, but, from the look of her, a decent amount of power rest in her compact frame. She’d already noticed her genuinely massive wings, but a set of horns sprouted from the pony’s skull, and she was not simply grey – a black mask covered most of her face, though it was interrupted by a stripe of white, and black stripes ran up her legs. She didn’t seem to be awake, but Seraphina supposed that it would be better to check before she attempted to move the pony out of the surf.
Extending a foreleg, she prodded the pony’s side rather firmly with a charcoal-colored hoof. ”You. Are you conscious?” Although she was asking a question, Seraphina’s tone wasn’t especially inquisitive, and even a slight examination of her features would find her entirely unconcerned.
Seraphina had risen long before the dawn and departed the Court for the desert, hoping to make her way to the ocean before it grew too hot; she’d found that her dark coat granted her few favors in the realms of day, and she knew just how unforgiving the Mors could be, all of her years of experience navigating the sands aside. Regardless of whether or not the Day Court – or any of the courts – had a Sovereign, someone still needed to patrol its borders. That had been part of her job during the reign of the last Sovereign, and Seraphina imagined that, until she was told otherwise, it would remain part of her job. She reached the shore just as dawn began to peek over the edge of the horizon, casting rays of dull, blue-grey light across the sands. The beach was littered with driftwood and dead jellyfish, tell-tale signs that a storm had passed through not long before she had arrived. Sucking in a breath of salty, humid air, a sharp departure from the suffocating dryness of the desert at night, she began to comb her way down the shoreline, examining the wreckage that the storm had washed up.
When she first caught sight of the pony, body splayed awkwardly across the sand, Seraphina wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking at. She approached the unidentified mass cautiously, at first, but she soon identified the greyish mass as a body and the two black masses at its side as wings, and, for a moment, she thought that she would have to give the thing an impromptu burial. A few more steps and she realized that its small sides were heaving – evidently, the storm hadn’t claimed another casualty. With the way that the pony was laying, partially obscured by water, she could only imagine that it had crashed in the storm. Seraphina imagined that the most reasonable thing to do would be to see if it was conscious, figure out its intentions, and bring it back to the court, assuming that she could figure out a way to move it, or it could walk on its own. With that in mind, she strode over to the limp creature’s side, odd eyes darting over its – her, she realized – frame thoughtfully. The pony was stocky and small, as might be expected, but, from the look of her, a decent amount of power rest in her compact frame. She’d already noticed her genuinely massive wings, but a set of horns sprouted from the pony’s skull, and she was not simply grey – a black mask covered most of her face, though it was interrupted by a stripe of white, and black stripes ran up her legs. She didn’t seem to be awake, but Seraphina supposed that it would be better to check before she attempted to move the pony out of the surf.
Extending a foreleg, she prodded the pony’s side rather firmly with a charcoal-colored hoof. ”You. Are you conscious?” Although she was asking a question, Seraphina’s tone wasn’t especially inquisitive, and even a slight examination of her features would find her entirely unconcerned.
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
