Csilla
Isn't it lovely, all alone?
Heart made of glass, my mind of stone
I
t was a fascinating point of interest on how memories could alter one's perspective of the world. Brief moments of time were forever immortalized no matter their varying significance. Often, it was those that should have been easily forgotten that lingered like an unwanted sickness. Again, and again the most minute details of a dream would become stuck on repeat. Eyes fixed upon the hare's hiding place; my attention was suddenly drawn to the dripping of the icicles that clung to the bare branches. There was a glassiness to them as they hung precariously in place. Almost completely transparent I wondered if they were as fragile as they appeared. Surrounded by the frozen land, I remembered my mother's mirror. Drawn back to my brief childhood, my breath caught in my throat as every detail presented itself in my mind. For a moment it was as if I held the very object before me - reborn from the ice. Years had passed since I'd last looked upon it. The last surviving artifact of my mother's life left to me. Proof that I had come from something other than dust.
I'd treasured the crystal piece. Delicate in every way, it'd been entirely unsuitable for a child's hands. Thinking back to it, it was obvious that Father only ever intended its presence in my room to be decorative. Leave to a filly of my imaginings to think otherwise. For hours I would sit and stare into it, imagining that it was my mother's face that stared back at me. Late into the night, she would listen as I divulged the most mundane details of my day. Peaceful and quiet, I stole a new reality for myself - my own reflection as real to me as any mother could have been.
I did not know how long I could have continued in that way. Governess's arrival saw the end to many of my childhood daydreaming’s, and I often wondered what she would do if she discovered the secret of my magic mirror.
The day that I found it shattered upon my vanity was the day I knew that I would never again be allowed to enjoy the bliss of childhood. In the depths of my sorrow, I had not thought to consider the hands behind such a momentous event. Now it appeared as plain to me as anything. Its destruction had not been an accident. I remained as devastated by it now as I had been then.
For the first time since I'd been thrust out of the only world I'd known, I found myself feeling gratitude. Those days belonging to my stolen childhood felt as far away to me now as my beloved desert. How many years had it been? Ten, twenty - two? Just as the mirror had been made of glass, it seemed that my past had been formed by ice. Cold, unwelcoming, and finally melting into whatever next season awaited me.
Behind me, my tail flickered and sent the gold ring that sat at its base spinning. The remainder of its presence was not yet lost to my past. It still remained - just as potent as ever. Soon, I mused, it would become yet another broken mirror. A relic to the brittle nature of the love that could never truly be. By spring's awaited thaw, its true influence might be long forgotten - replaced by whatever else I might discover.
From behind me, another voice broke the silence of my thoughts. Not entirely unexpected I could only assume that it was the owner of this voice that had startled the hare. Its gentle cadence was not entirely unwelcome. The first equine I'd met since my kidnapping I felt my loneliness being replaced by reluctance. Slowly, I turned my evergreen gaze to look upon the face of the mare.
Nothing, however, could have readied me for the sight I saw.
For the briefest of moments, I worry that my expression is too easily read. Startled by the skinny creature at my rear, my ears flickered with uncertainty. Nothing but skin clung to the bones that made up most of the mare's jagged mass. Colors diluted by her poor condition were made wet by the snow that surrounded them. It was miraculous that the wind did not carry her away. After being exposed to riches and bounty, there were no words adequate to offer the stranger.
Poverty I had seen before. Skinny orphaned foals too weak or young to work the quarries. Father had not been kind to them - likening them to the vermin that ruined our fields. In his strict mind, there was no such thing as a free ride in life. Luckily, my opinion differed immensely from his. Every moment I could, I would sneak scraps of food out to the beggars that gathered at our gates. Mercy I had in plenty, though now I had no more to my name than the mare before me.
Despite her condition, she did not seem to fit the mold of what I had come to expect. Much older than any beggar I'd known, there was a glistening of wisdom that burned at the back of her dull eyes. The stories she could tell, I imagined - and the lessons she could teach. Stiff as a board I moved to silently accept her invitation. I hungered for companionship, knowing that there was little she could offer by means of warmth. Almost immediately, I felt my countenance relax.
"Yes," I agreed with her, the sound of my voice almost startling after the time I'd spent in silence. "I've never experienced a cold as unforgiving as this."
@Luvena
