The stones rattled under the loud, thunderous beat of song -- the primal rhythm just fast enough for the ocean-kissed mare’s liking. The tendrils of control that she had been holding seemed to slip away from her with every turn that she took in the dance -- her eyes shut to ignore everything but the sound of song. Before her arrival in Denocte, dancing had been a chore -- something that she had done because she had no choice in the matter but here she had found her freedom again and the very thing meant to enslave her had been the key.
Her body was a stranger to her, the way that it was able to move and twist about as she kept time to the wordless song. Leaps and kicks, twists and somersaults -- she was quite the acrobat. Yet, all of that elegance and flair had come with a price. She shook her head, tossing those black waves, as she warded off the thoughts of evil that threatened to bring her down. She was imagining the smell of smoke, she told herself. There was no fire here.
It was the whooping call of a male that brought her back to the earth after a few more minutes. Lashed lids opened to reveal a steel glass gaze, a hush falling over them as the mare snorted and stomped her last step unnecessarily hard. Her chest heaved with the effort of the dance as she jerked her head up higher, flattening her ears against the dishevelled mass of black curls. She could hear the admonishment from her fellow Denoctens towards the young stallion who had broken the spell, although none would stay mad at him for long. Someone else would come to take her place, though perhaps not with the innate flair that she possessed.
Freya picked up the flashy piece of gold and sapphire on her way out of the small crowd, still breathing heavily as she cut a path for herself through them. She took refuge in a dark corner of the market, away from the flickering torches that disrupted Caligo’s perfect summer’s night as the thoughts that she had let go of while dancing returned to her, swarming her like flies to a rotting corpse. Her skin, rich in midnight blues, quivered and twitched as she fought back for the control of her emotions. She slipped the elaborate gold and sapphire adornment that she always wore back onto her head, feeling the cool metal against her sweaty skin start to ground her even more.
The witch who had sold her the thing had said it held some sort of magic, but Freya was a skeptic of such things. She had never seen magic for herself, therefore it did not exist.
