[P] in the moonlit snow lives a secret

[Isra]

"Within every solar system of the soul
lies a plan of what truth is”

  Isra doesn't remember the moment the mountain snow turned instead to marble beneath her hooves. Nor does she recall exactly when the night sky gave way to pillars of cracked, white stone upon which dead ivy grew. The temple curling around her, like a ghost, feels like it appeared out of nowhere. One moment she was prowling though the sleeping forest trying to get rid of the itch of violence that kept her awake. The next moment she was walking through the empty halls of an old temple.

Snow still drifted lazily around her and the shadow of Fable still cut through the moonlight like a blade. Her dragon saw the temple but he never warned her because a comet shooting across the sky caught his attention instead. The stars were always brighter in the sky than in the forest. He doesn't understand why his unicorn wanted to climb the mountainside when he could have just carried her.

Unicorn are strange creatures, he thinks. But he still loves her so.

Under the shadow of her dragon, Isra finally looks out from her own thoughts itching down her spine like vines, and finally notices the pillars rising around her like bones. There are candles flickering on hollow shelves, although when she tries to find hoof prints in the snow there isn't even a hint of a single one. She shivers and she doesn't know if its from the cold or from the way that the candle-light makes her feel so alone.

Isra could be the only one left in the world. The snow swallows up every sound, even the sound her lungs make when she exhales curls of mist and heat from her nose. She moves closer to an altar, and she looks behind her just once to make sure that she's leaving a trail in the snow. She is. 

Hellebore is blooming in pots, black and purple, and she wonders if she would be saved from madness if she ate a petal. Or would she just die, a sacrifice to this strange temple in the sleeping forest? She brushes her nose against a petal just to see if the flower makes a sound. It whispers against her skin, although she cannot understand the language of it.

Someone is coming, Fable interrupts because he knows Isra is still itching even as the snow gathers across her spine.

When she turns towards her trail of prints in the snow, the candle closest to her sputter and dies. The moonlight seems brighter with the loss of it, cool silver reflecting off each snowflake falling around her. She doesn't try to say anything, she only exhales more curls of heat and waits.

---

@Kratos // <3

CREDITS