At first, the mare is alone.
Then, she isn’t.
It is hard to say when exactly she stopped being alone. Was it the moment Anandi left her room in the court (lofty, silken, regal as a princess’ quarters ought to be) to follow the sweet song of the ocean? Was it when Anandi first saw her, a decadence of color against the dreary winter landscape? Or was it later, when the emissary (thoroughly intrigued by those sunset colors, that soft skin) followed her near the edge of the cliff, close enough to hear her say to herself “how do I get there?”
A sharp, angry wind whipped up the rocky bluffs. Winter was heavy upon them and the sea frothed with a cold, sullen tide. From here the two young women could hear the waves crashing angrily below, and they could see the salt spray, foamy white against the dull grey sky, but the ocean itself was not in sight.
Anandi could picture it, though.
All wild, steel blue decadence, rolling with energy that stretched leagues away. The sound as it crashed achingly against the cliffside was a song. It was calling her home.
“Where are you going, Sunshine?” Anandi’s voice is a leonine purr. There is a smile in her eyes. “Nothing that way but a long fall.” And a pretty view, but... she knew well it was far prettier from beneath the waves.
call it singing
A N A N D I
@Phoebe <3
some say the loving and the devouring are all the same thing
☾
