[P] Hello Darkness

[Marisol]

he who wants loses everything.

Marisol’s work is often interrupted, just like it has been this morning. She would never say so, but, more often than not, she is grateful for those interruptions; they provide an escape and a break that she would never have the gall to ask for on her own, even though the only authority she has left to obey is… herself. She feels a duty to stay and finish her works—solving court grievances, studying up on politics. 

But more and more often recently, the citadel feels less like an office and more like a prison. She loves her books, but the pressure sits on her like a stone, and it is heavier than ever in this building, where the watchful eyes of the previous sovereigns from their portraits on the walls and guards wait outside every door. Their judgement, unspoken but infinitely powerful, keeps her locked in place for hours at a time.

So when someone comes knocking at the office, Mari is overcome with relief. It’s a gangly cadet asking about tomorrow’s training schedule, which is also a pleasant change of pace—finally, a question she feels comfortable answering! And when he leaves, he provides the perfect excuse to dart from the stuffy room, down the stairs, and out into the street.

It’s brisk and cold outside, the perfect antidote for the heat that had started to strangle her inside. Mari breathes a loud huff of relief as she slips into the courtyard. Already she feels a little better—more awake, lighter, less distracted. The air is heavy with the threat of rain, and the sky is a stormy gray, but the way it casts the city in silver is beautiful.

Your Grace?

Marisol turns abruptly. For a moment she is resentful—resentful that her time alone was cut so short, that her break has already been compromised—but she pushes it down, knowing with sullen certainty that it is her job to answer.

The stallion in the street is one she doesn’t recognize. The sight of his stained-blue eyes sparks the idea that she’s seen him before, but he must live outside the city, maybe even out in the swamps. “By Her hand,” Mari says. Her voice is soft, not with fear but with deep, genuine curiosity. “What can I do for you?”

To follow her greeting, she reaches to brush her muzzle against his shoulder, hoping it will let him know of her position without startling him.


"Speaking."

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