Time passes; things change.

Such was the way of the world. She did not have to like it, but she accepted it as true. And such a fickle nature hers was; indeed, a fickle nature is common amongst mortals. When change brings good to them, they praise their gods and fall to their knees in thanks, calling it good luck or good karma or any number of silly things. But when change brings them bad, suddenly their friends, their gods, even their world is against them. They place blame on something that they recently acquired, claiming that the new thing brought bad luck along with it. If they simply rid themselves of that thing, then they believe their good fortune will return with it. She knew better. Life comes in ups and downs.

She had never been a philosopher, and as this was a skill that she lacked, the shadow-mare have never stopped to think about this in detail. This day was no different; she was aware of changes taking place, of things being set in motion around her. She was aware of the fact that her once-had possession had fallen out of her grasp. But she did not linger on the why or the how of the situation; no, life was too short for that. She simply looked forward, on to how she could once again conquer her territory, set the order straight again. It was with this mindset that she had set out on that afternoon, searching with the few remaining shreds of her black heart, and yet never searching with her mind. It was a constant battle, and one she would never admit to fighting, but one she fought all the same.

In the distance, a too-familiar form appeared. She quickened her pace; his appearance excited a part of her that she had thought lost long ago, long before she had met the FrostHeart. And yet she was weary. Did she really want this meeting now, here? She ached still, and she froze in the gleaming drifts of snow, and she had yet to decide how she felt about her daughter's father. As one that refused to consider actual emotions, this was not surprising, and yet the question still reared its ugly head: did she, would she, could she care for him?

Worse still: had she ever stopped?

It was far too much for the cynical femme to ponder on such short notice, and she was dismayed and relieved in equal measure when his path led him to her. She was sure that the events of the last days - hell, the last months - had taken its toll on him, and yet in his eyes was no trace of the emotion that had to be roiling under the surface. He wasn't called FrostHeart for nothing, that she knew all too well, but she also knew that he had chosen the easy thing. It was far too simple to slip on that mask, to show everyone that you are okay, even when you are dying inside. She knew.

She did the same thing. Her sweet smile was at the same time sinister; in her orbs there was a wickedly mischievous glint. She could not rid her eyes of all of her pain, however, and this irritated her. She worked hard to mask it, and failed, though her unsteady mind would remain unrevealed. In speaking distance now, the shadow-mare halted. They were close enough to touch, and a part of her yearned to reach for him. She crushed the instinct with iron will, instead parting her lips to drip sweet poison in his ear, as ever: "And so we meet again, darling. None the worse for wear, I see." A bold-faced lie. He may have had his injuries healed, but he could not have escaped mentally unscathed - could he?

[W/C | 642]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.