Nothing at all had gone as he’d hoped. For a year he’d dreamed and planned, imaging his escape from his own people and country to the refuge that Delumine was in his mind. Here he was, now, and all that awe and wonder and expectation that had built up in him was bitterly mixed with disappointment. First there was the winged girl, with her dagger and her grinning insults, and then there was the maze (his tail is still singed from his encounter with the wyvern; he has yet to find some way to shear the burned parts away), the lackluster meeting with their sovereign, the way the halls echoed, empty. Nothing was as he had pictured it. So, as he had always done, Charlemagne sought respite in the library. This, at least, was as grand as he’d imagined. The wood was old and gleaming, the smell of leather bindings rich as sunlight. Huge windows arched gracefully and the slanting late-afternoon light set dust motes to dancing. Musty and boring, the strange girl had called his scent, but the young unicorn found it nothing short of magical. Even so, her insults toward scholars and books nagged at him, weighing on his heart like ballast. There was a part of him that hated her for how she disenchanted him from what he loved — and a part that suspected it was his own weakness to blame. It made for a bad collection of thoughts, ones he was eager to shake. There weren’t many others in the library, and those present had the good grace to ignore him, leaving the dappled chestnut to wander the aisles, his reflection an indistinct echo on the marble floors. Occasionally he would touch his muzzle to a worn spine or pause to scan a collection of tomes. He isn’t looking for anything in particular, but when his green-eyed gaze finds a book called The Magic of This World he guides it from the shelf. And then stands in the middle of the library, uncertain where to take his prize. Along the far wall there is a collection of cushions for reclining; to the left, a row of tables. The colt, seized with indecision, makes no movement toward either, and then a cough sounds from behind him. Cheeks burning he turns, finding himself face-to-face with a stallion he doesn’t recognize. “Er,” he says, feeling his cheeks begin to burn, “sorry, I - I’ve never been here before. I wasn’t sure…” Trailing off, the unicorn darts his gaze away, swallowing against his embarrassment and frustration. He can't even say what he isn't sure of, but the truth of the statement is obvious enough in every line of his body. It seemed that even here he was doomed to a poor first impression. @Aion pardon the length, he has a lot of feelings right now xD |
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