[P] god is she

[Elena]

elena

I've hidden memories in boxes inside my head before. Sometimes it's the only way to deal with things.

There was a Great War before she was born, before Lilli was born, before even Valerio, Aletta, Elena’s own parents. It was a tale that has been told countless times in different forms, one of good and evil.  In this one, the great stallion, Elena’s great-great-grandfather. fought to protect his home against the  the wicked ringleader of the dark beings. Blood poured down into the valley as ivory and obsidian clashed against one another. In the end, and here is where the fairytale differs, in the end, no one won, it was a draw, a standoff. Life sacrificed on both sides, innocent blood spilled. “What do you think is the purpose of this story?” Alvaro asked the two fillies when they had been spending the afternoon with him, before his patrol duty. Lilli, the child she was, had a ready made answer dashed in perfection. Elena, for her part, stared at him with such a fiery resolved, her blood boiling beneath young golden skin. “Why fight even? What is the purpose? No land is worth the blood of innocents, the blood of family.” And she had scoffed, gone to the waterfall, listened until the thundering of the falls sounded like water again and not the drums of war.

There is that lovely dancer’s stride in which she moves and when the sun hits her just right, Elena looks like fire in this light. Elena likes the sound of moving water, crashing and flowing. Maybe she was always destined to fall in love with the dance of water. Her parents, after all, fell in love in the sandy shores of the sea. She was born near it, not an ocean, but a thundering waterfall. She grew next to a river, ran beside it. And then she found that even the shimmering surface of a glistening lake can be deafening. Water and its cascading, it’s crashing, it has been her entire life. So she finds solace in the sea, and in new faces.

There is a hunger inside her, like there are so many others. Elena can feel it, and she should know by now that hungry things will devour whatever light she offers them. They take, take, take, and Elena cannot help but keep giving.

Energy. She reads from the woman. Moving energy. She heard of the woman with this power, built of two colors, with ribbons in her hair. “Forgive me, but— are you Antiope?” Elena asks her, peering up from long, dark lashes, the blue of her eyes striking brighter, like lighting over water. “I had always hoped I would meet you.”

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