What would the world taste like, look like, if I was still just a unicorn with nothing more than a horn upon her head instead of a crown and hope in her heart instead of hunger? What would it taste like if I saw the skin of the world instead of the blood pulsing hot and begging beneath the stone and mortality?
What would I be like if I did not, as the sea does, clash against the shore over and over again until it dissolves into mud at the ferociousness of me?
Perhaps if I was anything else, anyone else, I would have slid my shoulder against his and laughed as a girl should. Perhaps I would not have snarled and bared my teeth like feral thing. And maybe it's more Foras than me that turns to him with a snarl that has nothing to do with warning and everything to do with the pulse, pulse, pulse of blood we can see at his throat like the low bass beat of the drum hanging above our heads. We feel like the sea, and the forest, when the winter turns to spring and there is only hunger the the violence it brings.
I do not smile. I do not tuck my teeth away as a princes should. “And if I said that you will not find him here,” We step closer as two wolves instead of two young things dreaming of the taste of war (we already know it, we know it as well as we know our shapes). My mother told me stories of all the ways a young unicorn should be cautious, of all the ways a princess can be reshaped by things other than her own will. “what would you do?” I cannot tell if my voice is more challenge or warning. I can never tell.
And when I smile at him then, I do not care if I am challenge or warning, because I am all sea-storm waves and dead things washing up in the tide.
All the instruments tumble to the floor and the sound it makes it an explosion against the soft sweetness of the music that is no longer. But I keep dancing, my horn held high as war-banner, daring him to step closer as two unicorns caught in the chains of music should.
@Martell
