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But when his heart was lifted up, and his mind hardened in pride...
Quilyan
...he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him.
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In a way, the caves are a blessing for the painted steed. Aboveground, he had spent so much time worrying about Resplendence that he had never stretched his own wings, made his own acquaintances, led his own life. That is not to say that he resents her - quite the opposite, in fact - but he does realize now that her protection cannot be his undoing. She is a fae of many means, with many friends who would give their lives for her. The only thing he is doing by insisting on remaining by her side is hurt himself. What about his ambitions, his dreams and desires? What about his need to be needed, how he longs to be useful, as she is and as Kaj is and as Kahlua is? What about proving himself to the family that had taken he and his princess in? No, the time for worrying and hovering is past. He must move forward with Resplendence rather than plod along behind, watching from her shadows for a threat that never comes. But in a way, the caves are also a curse. The deposed prince is a pegasus. He belongs in the sky, not trapped below the surface of the world, hidden away from the clouds. He longs for the wind in his mane, the warmth of the sun caressing his back, sliding over his wings. He dreams of diving through the sky, falling to earth like a broken angel, flaring his wings to save himself, out of breath and exhilarated from the rush of adrenaline. There is nothing like that down here, and he is beginning to loathe the dark, craggy caves of their sanctuary. There is nothing to save him from the tedious, humdrum, day-to-day activities of the hidden world, no escape from his wayward thoughts. The frustration is building within him, and so he takes to roaming the caves. The Wall of History, as they have apparently come to call it, draws him in. Something about the etchings are familiar; they remind him of Th'orqui, and the ruins he left behind. Despite the pain that the memories bring, he finds that he returns again and again, sharpening the blade of anguish and driving it deeper into his heart. How many times must he reply his past before the stake hits home, twists his life free of his chest, leaves him broken and bleeding? But there is something there that he cannot avoid, something that draws him home. The drawings on the wall - they are rich with history, a story he cannot yet understand, and somehow he finds solace in deciphering the ancient words. "They are beautiful, are they not?" he says to the blue-tipped fae as he approaches, watching her muzzle skim a rune. Perhaps he has found a kindred spirit. Perhaps the Wall interests her, too. |
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
