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Snow crunches softly beneath her dainty hooves, complimenting the sound of her cloak dragging against the icy crust. It is almost eerie, easy to mistake for the faint hiss of a disturbed serpent, but she is used to the various noises produced by the cloth, and so pays it little attention. Gray pools peer at the monochromatic world, concealed by the tinted glass eyes of her stifling mask. She is a startling sight, garbed in black and ivory, bearing the accessories of plague, but that is the point. She does not wish to infect another, to see her wild magic drive them to their knees until she must either flee or watch them die. This is the way it must be, she reminds herself, trying to forget how it felt to breathe without the mask trapping her exhalations, the she used to run without a heavy cloak flapping behind her like deformed wings. Forget the sun shining upon her bare back and the feel of the wind on her face.
She knows why she must bear her unusual clothing, but that doesn't mean she can't hate the things.
A twig snaps nearby and she shields away instinctively, wary of kindly strangers. A moment passes, two, three, and no one comes. Perhaps a tree had lost part of itself to the weight of snow, she reasons, trying to calm her racing heart. Even if it was another horse, who would be dumb enough to approach her, dressed as she is, obviously cursed? No, they will avoid her, the way they should.
And if the isolation breaks her heart, well, no one will know that but her. Better a broken heart than a dead friend.
(OOC Note: Yssraim does not have her magic after passing into Helovia, but she is currently unaware of this fact, which is why she acts like she has it.)
Yssraim
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