Raglan
may the bridges i burn light the way
He had never felt quite right inside palaces.
Their grandeur and beauty could not be discounted, and of course the lad acknowledged the craftsmanship that went into the construction of the mammoth structures, but the pegasus couldn’t help but feel out of place. Even when he had lived in Denocte’s castle with Reichenbach and the rest of his Crows, the horned lad had frequently stolen out into the city surrounding the palace, so strong was the stifling sensation. It was as if he couldn’t breathe when ensconced in the luxury of a royal dwelling, as if the street orphan blood that slugged through his veins could not abide by riches being so close.
Yet, as his hooves clicked and clacked against the polished marble flooring of what he assumed was a throne room of sorts, Raglan was too busy being overcome with curiosity to be uncomfortable. For approximately one season he had been back in Novus, filling his time by actively avoiding others and flying over Denocte’s mountain range in fits of melancholy. Though, at last, the blood-colored stallion had decided he was ready to pursue a life within the lands of Terrastella, and had allowed himself to be earthbound for a time.
And so he found himself, coat freshly cleaned, mane detangled and shining, smelling faintly of lemongrass and lavender — courtesy of the bathhouse he had been frequenting — in the royal hall of a one Marisol of Dusk. Raglan had to admit, he didn’t know much about Dusk’s chosen sovereign, only that she had recently stepped away from the public eye to attend to “Matters of State Business”. The pegasus had hoped that what with the fervor in which her subjects adored her, maybe he could learn to care for her too; but it seemed that he had chosen to introduce himself at a poor time.
Through articles and postings, whispers from citizen and servant alike, Raglan had gathered that the Regent, a golden firebrand of a mare called Israfel, was to oversee the dappled Queen’s overflowing social roster. He knew next to nothing of her beyond that; but the Crow had never been one for judging a book by it’s cover, no matter how many details were left out. The stallion imagined that he could come to care for her, that she would grow on him and he would be able to offer her his loyalty and his battered heart without guilt. It would be a lie for the thrice-orphaned male to say that he didn’t want to belong somewhere, that he didn’t want some greater someone to serve. Maybe he could care for her enough to blot out the pain of losing Reichenbach.
Feathered sides shivered as the stallion took a shaking breath and held his head high, his vanished brother and king had been weighing heavily on his heart as of late. Crimes of abandonment had been performed by and done unto him and it was practically all that the youthful male could think about.
He wanted to think about Israfel instead.
And so he waited, hoping she would appear.
"Talk"
@Israfel ... so when i tried to type in isra’s name, my brain 100% had me type in “Regina” and i dont know why. Just over and over all it gave me was Regina. I am losing it. Anyway. Here you are!
