Away from the crowds of the festival, there are the others. Those who are curious, longing but far from social. Mephisto would usually count herself in the other-category, choosing to stay to places with more shadows and quiet, despite her uncharacteristic small talk with the scholar in the tower. But when she grows weary of social pleasantries, she finds herself again on the fringes of Elena’s party, making her way through the neat rows of flowers and dodging children who ran with streaming banners and baskets full of flowers, dropping a few haphazardly as they went.
Her eyes are always watching, a slight flutter of worry in her chest as she wonders if the warg in her would be quiet today. The magic which swirled in her blood was still an unpredictable thing, raring its head at inappropriate times (and today’s show of friendship with the other courts would certainly count as such a time). As time had passed, she grew used to the sudden shift in her, but she still wouldn’t call herself comfortable with the magical intrusion. Sure, it had its benefits. Hadn’t she tried to tell Marisol as much? But the sovereign had simply expressed concern about Mephisto’s well being.
She was tired of walking on egg shells, wanting to find more purpose here, wanting to return to the way things were. Things were simpler as she trained beside the Halcyon, locked away from most of the world and left to drills and structure. There was a certain comfort which came with routine, waking up each day with a predictable start and understanding of what would come next. Now, she found herself left mostly to her own whimsy, like a dandelion seed of the wind. And Mephisto wasn’t sure her newfound freedom suited her. She longed for more, sighing away the frustration and trying to put it out of her mind as she wandered.
How life would be easier if she were like the others who roamed the flowers, Mephisto mused. If she could simply be content with filling her basket and eating rich pastries. If the weight of magic and duty didn’t weigh so heavily on her. She tries to think of other things, to simply let go and enjoy the revelry, but finds herself restless. And so, the warg turns from the merriment and finds herself instead, staring at another who watched with restlessness.
Curiosity piqued, the Pegasus wanders toward Dalmatia, clearing her throat when she finds herself within a respectable distance, before greeting the mare. “Have I seen you before… with the Halcyon?”
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