i'm collecting all the feathers,
Where she was from magic was about as rare as blood. Everyone had it. There were entire universities dedicated to the craft, the development, the honing; every child with a drop of magic in their blood was scooped up by colleges and benefactors in the hopes of training soldiers and servants. They were indoctrinated with school spirit chants and made-up rivalries with people who bore animals of a different logo. Sabrina had been blessedly spared from all the chaos-- unwanted, undesired. Free to follow her sister wherever Delphine’s bottomless spirit dragged them.
The strange dark mare with her stranger red highlights seemed indifferent to Sabrina’s indifference and Sabrina could appreciate that, if just for a moment. Everyone she’d run into in this godforsaken country had wanted to talk, like they had something to prove, or something they thought she should care about. They had so many fucking gods in Novus she was amazed all the factions hadn’t all killed each other. The presence of magic, illness-inducing though it was, was no surprise; in fact, it was rather comforting, like wearing a pair of dirty pants, to watch various enchanted creatures flexing their magical muscles and trying to impress each other.
Magic was a disease of the body and brain. Sabrina lifted her wings and winced as her heart skipped a beat.
Her temper may make her seem young but the fire within her was well-cultivated and fed. It was ageless, eternal, a constant burning which licked at her lungs and turned her words to flame. Anger was a weapon; Puck had always warned her it would get her in trouble in it’s innate self-destructiveness; Sabrina argued it was others-destructive, as she might need to display here, soon, if this bitch didn’t up and leave her alone.
The truth was Sloane didn’t need to do anything to make Sabrina miserable-- she already was. She was burning, burning, burning down to coal and embers, blackened and useless and devoid of feeling and any knowledge except that of moving forward. She was knives and needles and the type of acid that opened chests.
Somewhere behind her, Sabrina could feel Sloane’s smirk, so greasy and oily on the pure, fresh air; she pinned her ears to her skull because she could just tell this mare was not the kind to up and leave. She liked being a miserable pain in the ass; Sabrina was intimately familiar with the type (I like annoying people and you look easily irritable. Am I right?)
So when she mentioned her sister Sabrina almost didn’t stop. At first, she hadn’t realized she’d ceased forward progress; but that word, sister, was like a neural trigger, something ingrained in her brain to make her respond a certain way. And it was bitter, bitter combat within her, the kind that made her stomach flip-flop and ripped her stomach in two; there’s no way this dumbass knows anything versus you promised you’d try everything. You promised.
So she exhales deeply from her nostrils and imagines clouds of smoke expanding and scalding the ground. She raised her head, but her shoulders were slumped, and she did not turn around. “Look. I imagine you have better things to do than sit here and bother me. So look at it this way: You can either continue on your way and find someone else to pester, or you can tell me what you know, if you know anything, and I’ll owe you one for the rest of my life.” She winced, hating herself for indulging the flighty broad, but unable to not. “Though I doubt you can even tell me her name,” she added as a muttered afterthought, as certain as sundown.
The strange dark mare with her stranger red highlights seemed indifferent to Sabrina’s indifference and Sabrina could appreciate that, if just for a moment. Everyone she’d run into in this godforsaken country had wanted to talk, like they had something to prove, or something they thought she should care about. They had so many fucking gods in Novus she was amazed all the factions hadn’t all killed each other. The presence of magic, illness-inducing though it was, was no surprise; in fact, it was rather comforting, like wearing a pair of dirty pants, to watch various enchanted creatures flexing their magical muscles and trying to impress each other.
Magic was a disease of the body and brain. Sabrina lifted her wings and winced as her heart skipped a beat.
Her temper may make her seem young but the fire within her was well-cultivated and fed. It was ageless, eternal, a constant burning which licked at her lungs and turned her words to flame. Anger was a weapon; Puck had always warned her it would get her in trouble in it’s innate self-destructiveness; Sabrina argued it was others-destructive, as she might need to display here, soon, if this bitch didn’t up and leave her alone.
The truth was Sloane didn’t need to do anything to make Sabrina miserable-- she already was. She was burning, burning, burning down to coal and embers, blackened and useless and devoid of feeling and any knowledge except that of moving forward. She was knives and needles and the type of acid that opened chests.
Somewhere behind her, Sabrina could feel Sloane’s smirk, so greasy and oily on the pure, fresh air; she pinned her ears to her skull because she could just tell this mare was not the kind to up and leave. She liked being a miserable pain in the ass; Sabrina was intimately familiar with the type (I like annoying people and you look easily irritable. Am I right?)
So when she mentioned her sister Sabrina almost didn’t stop. At first, she hadn’t realized she’d ceased forward progress; but that word, sister, was like a neural trigger, something ingrained in her brain to make her respond a certain way. And it was bitter, bitter combat within her, the kind that made her stomach flip-flop and ripped her stomach in two; there’s no way this dumbass knows anything versus you promised you’d try everything. You promised.
So she exhales deeply from her nostrils and imagines clouds of smoke expanding and scalding the ground. She raised her head, but her shoulders were slumped, and she did not turn around. “Look. I imagine you have better things to do than sit here and bother me. So look at it this way: You can either continue on your way and find someone else to pester, or you can tell me what you know, if you know anything, and I’ll owe you one for the rest of my life.” She winced, hating herself for indulging the flighty broad, but unable to not. “Though I doubt you can even tell me her name,” she added as a muttered afterthought, as certain as sundown.
that are falling off your wings.
