The warrior queen was silent for a moment as he spoke, of his expectation that the Fae Queen should be able to life life so as to offer meaning to those sacrifices. She doesn't argue, how can she when she gets up every morning for them. She is still quiet after a moment, thoughtful to his words, "I once knew her very well, the now Queen of the Summer Fae. Laughed with her at her antics. Celebrathed the success of the pranks she played, on both her people and the stuffiness of the council. And yet, the last time I saw her; I hardly could recognize her. Like a stranger. She seemed so opposite of who she had once been, a shade hiding from the warmth of Summer for as long as she can." Her words are soft, sad - as if a friend reminiscing about someone they once held so dear. She didn't say the last time she had seen the Queen had been in the mirror before she shattered it. That trying to stand tall, presentable, to see if she could be who she had been meant to be had torn out her heart and she didn't recognize the fae in the mirror. It wasn't the sure, and headstrong princess she had once been. It wasn't the little fae child playing in her mother's jewelry, adorning herself as queen.
It was an adult mare, whose eyes hid shadows, and a layer of danger and darkness that came from courting the darkness willingly, and then the hate that came when it was pulled away. She wasn't the fun loving mare of the summer, she knew in her soul that she had been corrupted beyond that . . . But the real reason she didn't replace the broken, and covered mirrors in her room? Because she could see the healing, she could see those edges softening. When do you forget about what had happened. TO her parents, her son, Calico, Arson . . . when would she forget about Tremaine? Would that happen?
Dear God, she didn't want it to happen. She wanted to see him in every shadowed feature, a grand stallion ready and waiting for her in the shadows. Teasing, and a cocky smile that could make her heart race with one tantalizing smirk that promised all kinds of dangerous games full of fun, to hear his words huskily whisper his nickname for her. To see those red eyes soften in hue to something more akin to cherry juice than fire and flames. To see the demonic being turn into putty at her gentle touch, moldable, changeable - and yet she never did so with him. Because he, as he had been, had been perfect for her, and in return, it had also turned her into a more sure individual, she was more confident in her own abilities. She trusted herself more. She believed the world would be okay as soon as the two of them were together. And then time had stolen him from her. Had robbed her of her happily ever after.
And now he haunted her thoughts, and she clung to those memories, those phantom whispers, the way she would see his facade from the corner of her eye only to have him disappear when she went to look closer. If she forgot about the others, so be it. But Tremaine, and her son; they were never allowed to just be forgettable, because forever, Tremaine would hold a key aspect to what made in . . . well, her. And her son had been what had made her feel capable again for the first time since Trey's death. Those two, their memories kept her going.
She focuses now, however, on helping this stallion learn Novus, willingly letting the distraction tease her thoughts to a different avenue. Useful as it was, a convenient distraction. "I am glad to have been of service." She replies gently, before explaining more about the courts, the gods that these individuals believe in. She tilts her head when he speaks of being grateful for her assistance, and her smile is warm in response, relaxing at the words, before nodding to the understanding of a particular place calling to him - Denocte had called to her after all. And then he reached towards her, his muzzle brushing to her cheek, and she flinched visibly away in shock, turning her head quickly, "My apologies, but I am not comfortable with others touching me." She apologizes, ears flicking back, the mare glancing briefly at him, "I understand many are more physically demonstrative, but I must ask that you not touch me with out permission." Her words are gentle, "Not all those who have done so in the past, have done so with kindness, and sudden touches alarm me." It's as close as she will get to, to admitting being in conflict, of horrible place, that not all touches were warm - that many were cold, cruel, meant to hurt and cause pain. Yes, it would be better to make sure he understood that.
Besides, it felt wrong . . . for another stallion to just touch her.
Very few were allowed to these days.
“Talk.”
(Alternate color for thoughts).
Tiana, the bonded soul-spirit
@Jarek
It was an adult mare, whose eyes hid shadows, and a layer of danger and darkness that came from courting the darkness willingly, and then the hate that came when it was pulled away. She wasn't the fun loving mare of the summer, she knew in her soul that she had been corrupted beyond that . . . But the real reason she didn't replace the broken, and covered mirrors in her room? Because she could see the healing, she could see those edges softening. When do you forget about what had happened. TO her parents, her son, Calico, Arson . . . when would she forget about Tremaine? Would that happen?
Dear God, she didn't want it to happen. She wanted to see him in every shadowed feature, a grand stallion ready and waiting for her in the shadows. Teasing, and a cocky smile that could make her heart race with one tantalizing smirk that promised all kinds of dangerous games full of fun, to hear his words huskily whisper his nickname for her. To see those red eyes soften in hue to something more akin to cherry juice than fire and flames. To see the demonic being turn into putty at her gentle touch, moldable, changeable - and yet she never did so with him. Because he, as he had been, had been perfect for her, and in return, it had also turned her into a more sure individual, she was more confident in her own abilities. She trusted herself more. She believed the world would be okay as soon as the two of them were together. And then time had stolen him from her. Had robbed her of her happily ever after.
And now he haunted her thoughts, and she clung to those memories, those phantom whispers, the way she would see his facade from the corner of her eye only to have him disappear when she went to look closer. If she forgot about the others, so be it. But Tremaine, and her son; they were never allowed to just be forgettable, because forever, Tremaine would hold a key aspect to what made in . . . well, her. And her son had been what had made her feel capable again for the first time since Trey's death. Those two, their memories kept her going.
She focuses now, however, on helping this stallion learn Novus, willingly letting the distraction tease her thoughts to a different avenue. Useful as it was, a convenient distraction. "I am glad to have been of service." She replies gently, before explaining more about the courts, the gods that these individuals believe in. She tilts her head when he speaks of being grateful for her assistance, and her smile is warm in response, relaxing at the words, before nodding to the understanding of a particular place calling to him - Denocte had called to her after all. And then he reached towards her, his muzzle brushing to her cheek, and she flinched visibly away in shock, turning her head quickly, "My apologies, but I am not comfortable with others touching me." She apologizes, ears flicking back, the mare glancing briefly at him, "I understand many are more physically demonstrative, but I must ask that you not touch me with out permission." Her words are gentle, "Not all those who have done so in the past, have done so with kindness, and sudden touches alarm me." It's as close as she will get to, to admitting being in conflict, of horrible place, that not all touches were warm - that many were cold, cruel, meant to hurt and cause pain. Yes, it would be better to make sure he understood that.
Besides, it felt wrong . . . for another stallion to just touch her.
Very few were allowed to these days.
“Talk.”
(Alternate color for thoughts).
Tiana, the bonded soul-spirit
@Jarek
Running out of fucks that I can give to you
But you can still be pretty on the inside, too
Your heart's so cold, but I love the way you lie
Should've seen the red flags, but for you I'm fucking blind
But you can still be pretty on the inside, too
Your heart's so cold, but I love the way you lie
Should've seen the red flags, but for you I'm fucking blind
