en natt så kall och månen den var klar

So baby if you love me just let me know, 'cause every time we touch, touch it's turning cold...

It was hopeless, wasn't it? Could the broken ever fix the broken? What hope in hell did he have of finding salvation on a moonlit beach with a young mare just as shattered as he? The gold along her sides seemed to grow paler in the silver light, shattered cracks along her fine body, like.. scars; like the scars left by fire.

Had she burned, too? Was that why she had tamed fire, to make it hers, to own that which had hurt her so?

The anger had gone out of him, swept away by the salty night breeze and the monochromatic world, swirling away like so much silver sand. Instead, he just felt empty—because that was all he was these days. Empty, and angry, frustration rising into bitter fury to mask the yawning void where his heart and soul had been. He hid his exhaustion behind a curtain of angry words and starless blackness, hid his pain behind his healed scars.

"So, I'll get to live another day running around getting people angry, making more enemies?" A humorless smirk found itself on his lips. Welcome to the world, Aurelia.

He didn't know any other way to live.

His gaze followed hers, north, under wheeling stars to a distant horizon hiding the contours of a land he knew intimately: a land where he could, vaguely, recall feeling alive, and worth something. A time and a place before the fire came to start the slow decline, the first crack running up along the ice pillar supporting his world; it all lay in shambles, now. Purpose gone, heart a mess, and everything slowly but surely falling apart to the distant, thunderous groan of the glaciers breaking and falling into the frigid sea.

And he recognized the bitterness in her voice. And I am Failure, shameful and guilty, unable to break out of these old ruts and rise above the bloodied, painful mess of my past. He didn't know what to say. What to tell her. Because what could he say? How could he somehow help her with the problem he couldn't even solve for himself? And still, somewhere deep inside, it wrenched at him to see her like this—she was so young still, she ought to be golden and joyous and laughing, radiant like the sun, like Kahlua, not.. not like this. "I'm the World's Edge Seer, now, but now I feel more invisible then ever."

It was what power did to you. The name, the role, obliterated the self; when they looked at her, they would not see Aurelia. They would see the Seer. When they looked at him, they had never seen Mauja: he'd only ever been King.

So, quietly, wordlessly, with only the whispered shift of sand as his hooves turned it over, he moved, towards her; the tip of his horn glinted in the cold light, and the silver moon stole every ounce of warmth from his colors. The distance seemed endless, but suddenly he was there, close enough to be burned—and his head reached out across the darkness, shadow falling over sand and into hers, as the soft, black tip of his muzzle stretched out to touch her neck.

[ Tagging you once @[Aurelia] because I took forever to respond. ]

Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål