dusk  
live by love though the stars walk backward

    I'm cased by the cold. The fingers of it wrap around me from behind digging into every cranny of every hair, on skin that puckers to protect blood vessels. A thief it was. It stole the breath from my lungs, the air was beautiful. Crystalline. As if I was exhaling snow. The beauty of it almost let me forget the numbness I felt in my hooves, that were shocked by the impact of landing — the feeling that is like needles through sole. I shook it off, letting go of the shivers, ordinarily, as though my heart could thaw frost.

    I don't want to think about winter as the burglar who steals warmth. But as much as I could tell myself to embrace him, cradle him like everyone wishes they could cradle the homeless, as much as I wanted to, I couldn't. This was an unforgivable act. Had it been wished upon me? As I stepped into the world, inevitably, this winter robbed my identity. It evaporated like snow to steam and my colors, the reflection of heavenly stars, ascended from my flesh. It happened in a flash, as though the last step I took into the trees was the entrance to a new reality. My eyes followed the mist into the sky, until I saw them merge to the stars. The colors only dusk could own, slipped back into the crannies of cold feathers, itching coat. I dressed back into my day skin; it's like sleeping in jeans. I glared at the sky with envious green. I unfurled my feathers. I let myself curse. This place, this winter just stole my skin.

    It is easy to deceive an optimist. It is easy to beguile those to the grasp of beauty and devour them entirely.

    I look back over my shoulder to see that buckskin plume replaced inky sky, and then to where I had come from. Was someone trying to tell me something? Did someone want to mess around, at this time of night? I felt the blood drain away from my face, it seemed like every other limb became numb at the same time. I took one step forward, into this hostile land and addressed the bare pines, the light snowfall that looked more innocent than a jury, "What are you?"

    It almost surprised me that someone didn't answer. I sighed; let breath snatch away into cold air.

    I quietly asked, "what else can I give you?" chuckled, and stepped into the bare winter.

    There was something about surrender that gave good riddance. My shoulders swung low, nose tickling the snow like a hound in search for a suspect. If I couldn't live in my own skin, I'd have to find someone else's. Surely there would be some other kind of fantastical occurrence. Sensitive ears caught the familiar sound of flapping wings overhead. I rolled eyes upward, green irises chased down the ruby glint that circled above like a starving vulture. It wore beady eyes that traced me as though I was a foe. Was this the work of that crimson nuisance? It had been a long time since I'd met a dragon like this one. They were common throughout my birthplace, speaking from the souls of those without wings. It was interesting that such a place could share the same fauna. Though Isilme was treacherous, it never dare steal the identity. The stretches of my mind sought out Sephagus, and sent him a small prayer. I had an unconscious looming, a vague distrust, in whatever was around the corner of knotted tree limbs.

    But I'm amazed by what I see. She is pallid as the banks around and frothy like a cloud, the earth adorns her in leopard spots. Night ellipses her details, but my eyes adjust to her features. She laughs harmonically, and my ears catch the hopeful sound. I'm glad she wasn't the typical type that wore red-eyes, though I full-hardheartedly expected a horse that grew spikes instead of flowers. With relief, I smiled back to her and then to the gilded Rathunax that landed in her mane.

    "Please, sir, excuse my companion. He is very protective, and as such rather distrustful."

    I didn't expect any of this, honestly. I laughed in coincidence while she laughed in shyness. This was utterly ridiculous. My daytime appearance becomes my night, a small flower-girl bears a fearsome weapon, and now what? Everything here proved contradictory.

    "My name is Nayati, and his is Rathunax. This is Helovia. May I know your name, good sir?"

    Suddenly, as soon as the last word exited her mouth, I remembered. Vast archaic ruins spread across the time of racism and unwise Gods; raspy voice after birth, hoarse mother who'd given two twins to the world, the father who licked me clean. All of it revealed through the slight snow, the clear words. The Gateway, marking the dawn of Isilme's darkness, welcoming lords who turned the world black and bore magic on their sleeves. The crash and the burn. The hope and the doubt. It was so long ago, what a desolate memory. Was every land going to be like that? Was this all of my life?

    She gave me a good question. Who was I? The proper question would have been: 'What was I?' Without the night on my back, I wasn't sure. I gazed at her with questioning eyes, feeling around for some much needed help before finally muttering, "Dusk," through feeble lips. I remembered people who thought I was kidding. But the tragedy of being called Dusk was all that I could never explain.