Minor herd tasks had been set aside for the greater one at hoof, the call of a Goddess and the lure of power sending her out of the confines of her mountain home and out into the wilds. Her head is held proudly high upon a finely arched neck, her golden laced frame a sleek machine of grace and strength as she crosses down the heavily travelled paths that link each piece of Helovia into a whole. Southward she sweeps, knowing there are few she will encounter in the mountains or the northern tundra that she does not already know by name and deed, each chain linking together to form the carefully calculated line of her life.

How many times has she pondered the binds of her existence, to where her path will wind and come to an end? On her more foolish days, she hopes that it will never be so, that she can ride the horizon into the heart of the sun, living with her dark cross barring her soul to see the end of days bloom into fruition; to see the world burn down around her, she a silent witness to the fall of mortals, rising with the Gods bound to their spirits upwards into the endless spiral of the heavens. What is it that the Moon sees when she looks down on them all? Does she see their beauty, their bountiful grace and endless imperfections, or does she see only the dark lines that grip into their hearts, the sins painting their eyes dark and void?

She thinks it is perhaps the latter. The Goddess does not love her even though she is merely broken, cannot forgive her for what she has done out of spite for the splinters in her heart, and Illynx finds that she does not truly care either way, now that the chance for greatness has been given to her despite the Night Queen’s sourness towards the Gilded Blade and her rancorous kin. It is an odd sensation, to know that her mother will never love her or grant her blessings without a price, and to not be broken as she has been in past moments; rather, she feels an insidious desire to fulfill the duties cast to her and to spit her rage into the face of the Moon as she scalds every leaf from every branch in her damnable forest.

These thoughts chase her innocence that remains, the careless fantasies of a child forced to age before her time and becoming encased in glass within the heart of a monster; such a strange mind, this woman of ice and explosives, one that wanders down the hallways of fantasy and fancy and then barges down into the pits of vengeance and malevolence with little warning. She maintains a façade of control despite the utter lack of it within herself; she seeks to hold the reins and hope they drag her down the correct path.

Even if they don’t, the ride will at least be fun. She’ll make sure of it.

Rising from her thoughts, she finds herself deep in the grasp of the tall, ancient wood of the ruby pool and the old tree that watches over his children. She can see his towering boughs just west of her, though she refrains from going to visit the small, clear pool, knowing that others tend to gather there in large numbers from time to time and truly wishing to only find someone to help her gain her magic. From her experiences with the odd path of fate in this land, it is best to avoid where one normally found others in plenty; who we were meant to have were discovered wandering alone, and lonesome as you yourself are.

Not that she will truly admit to this, at least not now that she has contained her bruised spirit well enough in the absence of Psyche to once again wear her flawless mask.

It won’t ever slip again.

It won’t.

@[Azarel],@[Brisa]
[OOC: Part uno of lighting Illynx on fire. :D ]

There was a river once,
with many round stones
enchanted by shallow hopes
of embracing the ocean;
water is peculiar this way,
how its life is a line
that cannot bend or change
without the approval of its bed.