rip and smash through the hornet's nest
do you understand I deserve the best?
but you'll do what I want, do what i please
and do it again til I get what I Need
do you understand I deserve the best?
but you'll do what I want, do what i please
and do it again til I get what I Need
As a bright, young, and incredulously intelligent mare, there were very few subjects that Fever found herself unaware of or at a disadvantage – as slaves were not allowed to indulge in literature while housed at the manor, the speckled minx had taken advantage of her time outside of the walls and immersed herself in many books. Volumes of war and battle tactics, tomes that contained the history of her Kingdom, scripture of the Gods and their followers, gigantic encyclopedias that defined the flora and fauna of all in these lands – hell, even a dabble into the magics of the world.
She briefly recalls sneaking back over the wall, rushing to her mother Temper, so eager to share the knowledge she accumulated while on her adventures.
The Gods, the fates, the invisible strings that a great and mighty puppeteer pull on all the people of the world rendering them hollow marionettes –
These were the things that made Fever feel helpless and uneducated. And as she listened to the pale gold and lilac woman, an unescapable dread plagued her heart. She felt at the mercy of Nefertari as she spread the cards.
Each image didn’t mean anything to Fever, so she felt herself grow with anticipation, a nervous sea-sickness of tumultuous emotions bubbling in her gut, her jaw tensing as she silently grinds her molars to try and soothe herself. Each card placed down was briefly glanced at, but not the focus of her attention; Fever was watched Nefertari instead, analyzing her face, attempting to decipher the complexity of her smoky lips and gilded lashes, seeking for any hints that might tell Fever her fate before the fortune reader announces it.
A young filly afraid. A sunflower draught. A nature embedded stallion. A ghost of a mare crying golden tears. A King draped in jewel tones and furs. A white antlered horse surrounded by children of her kind. A battle-worn warrior.
None of them struck Fever as particularly tale-telling. But the second to last card revealed felt like a stab in the heart.
A woman thrown across pillows in agony as three swords penetrate her breast. Her face contorted into the shape of sadness and blood stained her hair. Fever could not justify a reason or understand the logic, but something about the image made her even sicker.
The mare’s eyes would rise back to the other’s face, just in time to catch the curve of a frown. Instantly, Fever’s ears pinned and her brow would furrow. She felt compelled to speak, even opening her mouth to do so, to demand what that slain lady meant, yet she kept her tongue in place as Nefertari laid down one last card.
As if this last card provided clarification, Fever observed the other woman relax, her soft gaze reading the cards. For just an inkling of a moment, Fever admired the confidence in her refined features – it was beautiful and effortless to her, as if she was really born to be a conduit for all heavenly and astrological bodies.
At the mention of powerful women, Fever couldn’t help but sit even taller than before, her whole body erect at stories of being made from blood, sweat, and tears. It felt strange to be recognized and read. Yet just as quick as she was to glower in the feeling of respect and worth, her temperament would turn bitter as she was told she needs to work with others and that she cannot be as independent as she’d like to be. In typical Fever fashion, she was tempted to leave the table and insist that she didn’t need the fortune teller to tell her to play nicer.
And then the discussion of heartbreak: the answers you seek are not the ones that you wish to hear.
Nasty and hostile words sit on her tongue like venom, she narrows her eyes like an unsheathing dagger, insidious and intrusive thoughts threatening to run rampant.
Did that mean her mother was dead?
She sits patiently as her fate is concluded, a wildcat in waiting, coiled and poised to attack – whatever she was insinuating, Fever was furious that she had the audacity. Was she purposefully toying with her emotions? Testing her will to contain her anger? Because wrath was a fast-moving poison and Fever had visions of throwing the table, of tearing up those painterly cards, she imagines a wildfire instantly decimating the entire tent.
Or perhaps it wasn’t anger that threatened to misshape her poise, but a pain of a wound so old that it would force her to lash out.
Fever’s gaze falls to the card, a grumpy scowl on her face, her blinks long and slow as if she contemplating her next move. “Learn to collaborate, huh?” she hisses under her breath, as if realizing in this moment her predicament might be some sick test. Leisurely, her face completes a metamorphosis back into a neutral expression, if not a hint bittersweet. Her voice is now hushed and tender, as if sharing a private secret.
“I do have a tendency to destroy things.”
Destroying her mother through indirect actions. Destroying herself by cutting her cultured and sanctified hair. Destroying relationships by ghosting those who care most.
Bound to destroy Solis’s court if her mother should not be found alive.
“You are well versed in your craft. I appreciate you sacrificing your time for me,” Fever pauses, a coy smile beginning to curl up her black lips. She reached into her coin purse to grab a handful of coins as a tip. “It would please me to know your name.”
“You said you are from Solterra?” she asks, quick to change the subject, eager to get away from her warring temper as to not make a fool of herself in this tent. “I owe you a drink when you return home.”
@Nefertari
She briefly recalls sneaking back over the wall, rushing to her mother Temper, so eager to share the knowledge she accumulated while on her adventures.
***
“Mama! Did you know there are birds that set themselves on fire to be reborn from their own ashes?”
Temper winced with the morbidity of the idea before a soft smile was placed on her lips. “My love, you shouldn’t be sneaking over the walls. You’re going to get caught –“
“Mama, they cannot be burned.” Fever’s childish eyes glittered with an unintelligible glimmer.
“That’s very interesting, Fever. Sounds like this bird has been blessed by gifts from Solaris.”
Fever hesitates as she curls up to her mother.
“Do you think we are blessed by Solaris? Do you think we will ever be reborn not as slaves?”
***
The Gods, the fates, the invisible strings that a great and mighty puppeteer pull on all the people of the world rendering them hollow marionettes –
These were the things that made Fever feel helpless and uneducated. And as she listened to the pale gold and lilac woman, an unescapable dread plagued her heart. She felt at the mercy of Nefertari as she spread the cards.
Each image didn’t mean anything to Fever, so she felt herself grow with anticipation, a nervous sea-sickness of tumultuous emotions bubbling in her gut, her jaw tensing as she silently grinds her molars to try and soothe herself. Each card placed down was briefly glanced at, but not the focus of her attention; Fever was watched Nefertari instead, analyzing her face, attempting to decipher the complexity of her smoky lips and gilded lashes, seeking for any hints that might tell Fever her fate before the fortune reader announces it.
A young filly afraid. A sunflower draught. A nature embedded stallion. A ghost of a mare crying golden tears. A King draped in jewel tones and furs. A white antlered horse surrounded by children of her kind. A battle-worn warrior.
None of them struck Fever as particularly tale-telling. But the second to last card revealed felt like a stab in the heart.
A woman thrown across pillows in agony as three swords penetrate her breast. Her face contorted into the shape of sadness and blood stained her hair. Fever could not justify a reason or understand the logic, but something about the image made her even sicker.
The mare’s eyes would rise back to the other’s face, just in time to catch the curve of a frown. Instantly, Fever’s ears pinned and her brow would furrow. She felt compelled to speak, even opening her mouth to do so, to demand what that slain lady meant, yet she kept her tongue in place as Nefertari laid down one last card.
As if this last card provided clarification, Fever observed the other woman relax, her soft gaze reading the cards. For just an inkling of a moment, Fever admired the confidence in her refined features – it was beautiful and effortless to her, as if she was really born to be a conduit for all heavenly and astrological bodies.
At the mention of powerful women, Fever couldn’t help but sit even taller than before, her whole body erect at stories of being made from blood, sweat, and tears. It felt strange to be recognized and read. Yet just as quick as she was to glower in the feeling of respect and worth, her temperament would turn bitter as she was told she needs to work with others and that she cannot be as independent as she’d like to be. In typical Fever fashion, she was tempted to leave the table and insist that she didn’t need the fortune teller to tell her to play nicer.
And then the discussion of heartbreak: the answers you seek are not the ones that you wish to hear.
Nasty and hostile words sit on her tongue like venom, she narrows her eyes like an unsheathing dagger, insidious and intrusive thoughts threatening to run rampant.
Did that mean her mother was dead?
She sits patiently as her fate is concluded, a wildcat in waiting, coiled and poised to attack – whatever she was insinuating, Fever was furious that she had the audacity. Was she purposefully toying with her emotions? Testing her will to contain her anger? Because wrath was a fast-moving poison and Fever had visions of throwing the table, of tearing up those painterly cards, she imagines a wildfire instantly decimating the entire tent.
Or perhaps it wasn’t anger that threatened to misshape her poise, but a pain of a wound so old that it would force her to lash out.
Fever’s gaze falls to the card, a grumpy scowl on her face, her blinks long and slow as if she contemplating her next move. “Learn to collaborate, huh?” she hisses under her breath, as if realizing in this moment her predicament might be some sick test. Leisurely, her face completes a metamorphosis back into a neutral expression, if not a hint bittersweet. Her voice is now hushed and tender, as if sharing a private secret.
“I do have a tendency to destroy things.”
Destroying her mother through indirect actions. Destroying herself by cutting her cultured and sanctified hair. Destroying relationships by ghosting those who care most.
Bound to destroy Solis’s court if her mother should not be found alive.
“You are well versed in your craft. I appreciate you sacrificing your time for me,” Fever pauses, a coy smile beginning to curl up her black lips. She reached into her coin purse to grab a handful of coins as a tip. “It would please me to know your name.”
“You said you are from Solterra?” she asks, quick to change the subject, eager to get away from her warring temper as to not make a fool of herself in this tent. “I owe you a drink when you return home.”
@Nefertari
![[Image: 45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png)
i am a forest fire; i am the fire and i am the forest
and i am a witness watching it
