Oxy

You are on the beach, lost at the junction of sandy waters and a forsaken wasteland. You grab your beloved plants, snatch them from the ground and shove them into the leather bag with gusto, with fervor, filling the reaches of the leather from bottom to top, from side to side, from front to back, stuffing and shoving, filling until the leather seams bulge and beg for release. But you have to fill it until it almost bursts because your home is so far away from the beach, because some days it seems like your stash lasts for fewer and fewer days even though you have magic to supplement your addiction, because if you don't have these plants you will spiral back into your moments of detox and you're just not sure you can handle that again.

And when you're done, when you've gathered all of what you can possibly gather, you turn your head and look over your shoulder. You are not ready to go home, not ready to leave this place that you inhabit, not ready to return to the Hidden Falls and pine over your failures and the future that you do not yet have. Someday it will be yours, someday you will call yourself general beneath Rose Red whom you hate. Still, whatever disgusting leadership she might provide, it will be worth it to call the Phantom Seeker your queen. Her saccharine words, her tempting motions, her seductive body... You nearly groan just thinking of it. She seduces you even when she is not in your presence. That is the power that she holds.

With one final look to your beloved plant patch, you turn to head towards home. You're hot, sweating, swaying under the overhead sun. The cape you stole from Eris does not help, draped over your back like you are some sort of royalty. You don't want the thing, but you hold it against Rose Red in an effort to make her uphold her end of the deal. You'll return it someday, once she names you general of the herd and Falls, but until then you keep it with you to protect it, to make sure she does not steal it back.

As you struggle through the sands, your eyes suddenly catch site of something. A hallucination? You're almost sure of it. But no- it is truth. It is the Phantom Seeker struggling along the briny shore, and then tumbling to the ground, covered in crimson streaks that do not belong on her hide. Your blood begins to boil and you shove your body into a canter, tripping through the sand, stumbling and falling to your knees but forcing yourself up again because you have to reach her. Eris told her to go for the crown but you didn't think she would- at least not this soon. Damnit, you curse in your head, enraged at yourself for not following her more closely. You should have been there and you weren't. Not trying to make you feel any better, your companion takes great joy in lifting one of the stones from the sandy beach with her newfound magic and whipping it through the air towards your head. It hits you solidly beneath the ear, stinging sharply, leaving a small trail of blood to trickle down your cheek. Yes, she thinks so too... you should have been there.

But you arrive too late, too slowly, you are beaten to the fallen Saccharine Queen by a unicorn of your herd, a mother you met once or twice before, and she steals the very words from your mouth. Circuta... Amika... who has done this to you?! You stop beside them, forging ahead for a moment with no thought or care for what they will think of you, no desire to hide your passion for the fallen princess, and you- you yourself!- reach forward with your nose. Down, down, down- ever closer to the Sleuth's neck, her throat, her cheek. Can you touch her? You should not, you are not worthy, and yet you try. You reach, you blow warm air, contain your drool, awakened from the hazy fog of your highness by the terror you feel at the prospect of losing the ebony shade that lays on the sands.

But you soon remember you are among company and, lingering for just a moment longer in strong desire to feel the flesh of the queen that is so much better than you, you withdraw your head and resume an air of stoic reservedness. “Ci-” You stop, hesitate, linger over the sound and let your brown eyes reach down for hers. You should not say her name, you should not ruin her sanctity by forcing yourself upon her, should not damage what is hers by mixing it with what is yours. “Sugar Lips,” you decide on instead with an angry sigh, for once wishing you were not an addict so that you might be able to say her name at a moment like this. But you are no better than the scum that lives upon the rocks of the ocean shore and so you confine yourself to your punishment, never being worthy to really say her name or do more than pine for the woman that may have secretly stolen your heart with her words of molasses. “I'll kill them both. Which one was it?” Glass Horn or Golden Pegasus. It doesn't matter to you anymore. They will both burn in the pits of hell when you are through with them.