A s t a
'cause i thought i saw your soul
I was a bitch. I knew it. Anyone who had to spend more than fifteen minutes in my company knew it.
I wasn't naturally a bitch.
But when you're tired, you get more easily annoyed.
And I've been tired for a long, long time. It's exhausting just to keep living and living and living. Even dying was like a short nap. I'd wake up in a new body. My friends wouldn't know me; my family wouldn't recognize me. It was hard; life was difficult to wade my way through. It had been going on for a long time.
In a way, I'm one of the oldest horses alive, destined to die and repeat in a lonely life of solitude. I remember the times when horses were barely starting to evolve. I remember the ground more snowy and ice than green and fruitful during those first many horrible lifetimes. The predators that preyed upon us in all of the horrifying glory: I remember it all.
I watch this odd being's reaction. I'm displeased by the smirk rather than the recoil of revulsion I was expecting. His words fell like silk from his muzzle, and the sudden switch had me blinking back my surprise. The stallion is clearly posturing, though, pointing out his ranking, trying to make himself meaningful. I don't bother with such trivialities. First horse outranks prince or queen any day, do they not?
Of course, I don't talk about my cursed existence.
Instead, I turn to look at him, rolling my eyes over him in distaste, You'll find titles from before Novus carry little meaning." I responded with all of the power and prestige I'd been raised with as a high society heiress, a priceless treasure of Terrastella, a blessing, and conduit of Vespera. " Furthermore, those with proper power hardly will share it where others can overhear. It's rather boastful, isn't it? An unfortunate ... an ugly trait for a prince." I finish with a drawled-out tone, my expression nothing sort of bored and unimpressed.
Oooh, I seem to be striking nerves? Maybe He was more displeased by my dismissal than I thought. He just reacts to words with words. I'd hoped he'd have gotten the hint to walk away. I'll try harder. "How about neither." I retort, letting his cold response of what sort of partner I'd need slide off my back. I was already well aware of the sort my parents were looking for, for me anyway. And I'd been alive a long time. I knew the sorts that the heiress usually married. We didn't find love; we found new ownership.
He wouldn't hurt me with such lackluster attempts. He simply had no idea who or what he was dealing with. You should know not to approach strangers than." I snap back, cutting my gaze to him, "Many of us do not care for any attention. Much less any compliments." I raise my head, ignoring his defenses against my retorts. "If being aggressive and defensive keeps others from bothering me, all the better. I don't need a lecture from a stranger." My tone had switched, even and smooth, the proper vernacular of a high society lady, the sort of high circles that made their royalty—a precious treasure to those who kept to their own.
I'm not bothered by this disdain he speaks with, nor do I care when he defends his choice to step close. I'm growing tired of his charade of 'I'm wounded and innocent.' No one is genuinely innocent; everyone has ulterior motives. And in the end, everyone forgets you when you die. I've lived long enough to see much of the world is dark, cold, and cruel. I've seen a mother turn away from a deceased foal, not even burying it to pay homage to the living. I've seen these so cold 'devote' parents that cast their child away for a pretty penny when times get rough. I've seen the honest, pure husband who stays late at work to earn money for his wife and newborn sneak away to the saloon to sleep with the call girls.
It's the same truths that I'm better off alone. Making a home in Liam and Bucky's Citadel and letting myself feel welcome into their family still set me ill at ease. Because I know the truths, I would keep remembering upon my death, upon my rebirth; they would all forget. And currently, as Asta Stendahl, I was already breaking too many of my rules. I wouldn't break another for this stallion. So as he spoke once more, of being a stupid fool to spear with venom, demanding I tell him how I'm better than a prince, how a court trained prince is a lesser compared to brutes I would want to warm my bed, I chose not to respond.
Instead, I stand, stretching one limb before tossing a couple of coins towards the barkeep. I don't spare the stranger a glance. I don't even acknowledge him, but instead, I turn and head towards the door. Because it's safer in the crowds, where no one wants to know who you are, beyond another soul to purchase their wares, another dancer in the streets. Another mare adorned with jewels that make tongues wag.
Denocte sang to me . . . perhaps it's time to go back home to the Citadel.
FROM THE MOUTH
INSIDE THE MIND
@Rhysand
Notes:: Let's see how this goes. Haha
I wasn't naturally a bitch.
But when you're tired, you get more easily annoyed.
And I've been tired for a long, long time. It's exhausting just to keep living and living and living. Even dying was like a short nap. I'd wake up in a new body. My friends wouldn't know me; my family wouldn't recognize me. It was hard; life was difficult to wade my way through. It had been going on for a long time.
In a way, I'm one of the oldest horses alive, destined to die and repeat in a lonely life of solitude. I remember the times when horses were barely starting to evolve. I remember the ground more snowy and ice than green and fruitful during those first many horrible lifetimes. The predators that preyed upon us in all of the horrifying glory: I remember it all.
I watch this odd being's reaction. I'm displeased by the smirk rather than the recoil of revulsion I was expecting. His words fell like silk from his muzzle, and the sudden switch had me blinking back my surprise. The stallion is clearly posturing, though, pointing out his ranking, trying to make himself meaningful. I don't bother with such trivialities. First horse outranks prince or queen any day, do they not?
Of course, I don't talk about my cursed existence.
Instead, I turn to look at him, rolling my eyes over him in distaste, You'll find titles from before Novus carry little meaning." I responded with all of the power and prestige I'd been raised with as a high society heiress, a priceless treasure of Terrastella, a blessing, and conduit of Vespera. " Furthermore, those with proper power hardly will share it where others can overhear. It's rather boastful, isn't it? An unfortunate ... an ugly trait for a prince." I finish with a drawled-out tone, my expression nothing sort of bored and unimpressed.
Oooh, I seem to be striking nerves? Maybe He was more displeased by my dismissal than I thought. He just reacts to words with words. I'd hoped he'd have gotten the hint to walk away. I'll try harder. "How about neither." I retort, letting his cold response of what sort of partner I'd need slide off my back. I was already well aware of the sort my parents were looking for, for me anyway. And I'd been alive a long time. I knew the sorts that the heiress usually married. We didn't find love; we found new ownership.
He wouldn't hurt me with such lackluster attempts. He simply had no idea who or what he was dealing with. You should know not to approach strangers than." I snap back, cutting my gaze to him, "Many of us do not care for any attention. Much less any compliments." I raise my head, ignoring his defenses against my retorts. "If being aggressive and defensive keeps others from bothering me, all the better. I don't need a lecture from a stranger." My tone had switched, even and smooth, the proper vernacular of a high society lady, the sort of high circles that made their royalty—a precious treasure to those who kept to their own.
I'm not bothered by this disdain he speaks with, nor do I care when he defends his choice to step close. I'm growing tired of his charade of 'I'm wounded and innocent.' No one is genuinely innocent; everyone has ulterior motives. And in the end, everyone forgets you when you die. I've lived long enough to see much of the world is dark, cold, and cruel. I've seen a mother turn away from a deceased foal, not even burying it to pay homage to the living. I've seen these so cold 'devote' parents that cast their child away for a pretty penny when times get rough. I've seen the honest, pure husband who stays late at work to earn money for his wife and newborn sneak away to the saloon to sleep with the call girls.
It's the same truths that I'm better off alone. Making a home in Liam and Bucky's Citadel and letting myself feel welcome into their family still set me ill at ease. Because I know the truths, I would keep remembering upon my death, upon my rebirth; they would all forget. And currently, as Asta Stendahl, I was already breaking too many of my rules. I wouldn't break another for this stallion. So as he spoke once more, of being a stupid fool to spear with venom, demanding I tell him how I'm better than a prince, how a court trained prince is a lesser compared to brutes I would want to warm my bed, I chose not to respond.
Instead, I stand, stretching one limb before tossing a couple of coins towards the barkeep. I don't spare the stranger a glance. I don't even acknowledge him, but instead, I turn and head towards the door. Because it's safer in the crowds, where no one wants to know who you are, beyond another soul to purchase their wares, another dancer in the streets. Another mare adorned with jewels that make tongues wag.
Denocte sang to me . . . perhaps it's time to go back home to the Citadel.
FROM THE MOUTH
INSIDE THE MIND
@Rhysand
Notes:: Let's see how this goes. Haha
shades of jade and emerald
