She has seen the devils in this place, remnants of those who once were whole, and as she stares at the flame they stare back, laughing.

They are all there, and she knows none of them, the shapeless mass of shadowy lives, the past and future and echo of now. They stand around the rim of the world, and they call to her, they smile: come closer. come see- but their smiles are poison, their lips whisper lies, and she shies from their ghosts, shies deeper into the caves and away from the sun and out of safety and into the tight, quenching caverns of the underground maze. Why have her feet found their way to this place? Day after day she finds herself asking the same question, and day after day she is left dumb, unable to answer, quaking with rage: rage at the world, rage at the ghosts, rage at the confusion and fear that threaten to swallow her crimson form whole.

But rage and fear are hapless fools drifting in the turbulent wake of curiosity, and the girl is slave to its wanton will, a concubine to the fickle desires of her lustful king. In the winding tunnels her fear dissolves, drifting in smoky tendrils to be replaced by languid desire, curious gaze lapping up moss and carving and stories that lace lofty walls. As quickly as it rose her anger is gone, replaced by a fierce desire to know what, what is it here that calls her so, why she has returned to the caves beneath the earth, what she will find and how it will change her perception of the world.

What she finds does not disappoint. Well, not exactly. The pool glows with an eerie appeal, less light than feeling, beckoning, smile. Unlike the flames which hold memory of horror and strike with tendrils of fear, this beckons with warmth and promise, laughs at the girl's fears. Tenderly she steps forward, breath baited though she knows not why; cautiously she peers into the water, and what she sees there surprises her more than anything else ever could.

From the water's edge, black eyes peer back, slashed by gold in a crescent face. Over the tangled forelock and forward ears, her brother peers down a curious snout, panting lightly in the mystic light. It is them, their reflection, and nothing else, nothing more.

Or is it? As the girl's surprise lessens she begins to notice the peculiarities, the changes in the lines and the subtle irregularities. They eyes that stare back at her are bright, young; the mane less tangled, the lines less wan. There is a glossiness to her coat and a strength to her jaw, the tracings of beauty that startles her more than anything else. The girl stares at the pond, and a mare stares back, and as surely as she knows the pool is magic, she knows that the other her is beautiful, and strong, and confident, and not afraid of anything.

And just as surely, she knows she'll never be that mare. A ripple mars the reflection; and it is in that moment she knows that she is crying, and that she hates herself, down to her very core.

Wishlist
[ ooc | Magic: Dark x Fire | Able to turn into a creature made of smoke and sparks. The shape of the creature can change, but it is unable to take any solid form. Exposure to her in this form may result in stinging of the lungs, coughing, burning eyes, and slight, mild burns from the sparks. ]