Dark hooves scrape across the powdered earth, the sun peeking out from behind dark, ominous clouds as they roll lazily across the sky. The white-washed morning landscape is quiet and cold while flakes drift down from leafless canopies. The malnourished woman moved along a hidden trail, her head bobbing low between her shoulders with each light step; the only noise that filled her small, fuzzy ears was the ring of solitude and the squeak of escaping moisture beneath her feet. Once again the rag doll is alone, left without a friend in the world. Her mind - currently occupied by the delicate clouds rolling from her small nostrils - is distant from this place in time.

      In her mind, the brutt can only imagine a world full of love; one where her family occupies her side. Though, this family is not made of blood, but instead is replaced by childhood imaginary friends.. and her dear father. The very same father she now believes she killed by leaving. Before you question the woman's sanity: no, these creatures do not exist beyond her imagination, as much as she wishes they could. It is quite simple, really, how the fae's mind works. It is much like that of a child so unfamiliar with the world. To prying eyes, a gentle smile touches the lips of our young woman, a silent greeting to her fictional family.

      To the left: a mare draped in white satin bats thick black lashes at her creator, pink skin stretching beneath white hide as a smile forms on her slender face as well. To the right: a foal who's dark body is divided in half by a creamy white blanket, his tail a perfect mixture of the two opposing colors that ends with stringy hairs at the end of the bone. But the man who now stands beside the pearly woman almost causes the dark hair along Adelis' spine to stand straight on end. His soft, round eyes are shadowed by twin antlers, but directly placed on the icy gaze of his youngest daughter.

      The smile that had formed only seconds ago melts off of dark lips, the puckered flesh around the long scar relaxing as it finds it's natural form once more. No longer does the creak of snow invade her ears, but instead the haunting whisper of wind. The snow stirs and tickles her face, but the antlered doe stares into the thin air, watching what she imagines to be her sire in the flesh. His body is unharmed and strong, just as she remembers it, but the deep sense of sorrow no longer shrouds his presence; but, perhaps, that is only in her mind.

      No tears reach her cool eyes, only the dry wind causes them to sting. Her throat is tight and parched, unable to pronounce a single squeak to the only person that has ever cared for her. With a tight jaw, the antlered one dips her dished face toward the powder, eyes sliding shut while she dismisses the thoughts from her mind. The wind screams, rattling naked branches overhead. Wide eyes open, finding that each of them is gone, having left nothing as little as a print in the snow.

      Finally, the doe can release a sigh, small ears cupped forward and delicate crown lifting back into the air. The wind rips through the bare forest from behind, driving snow into her twisting mane and tail. Swiftly, the young woman trots deeper into the woods, bright eyes searching for an evergreen buried somewhere between the softwood trees. But then, the pale woman wrapped in satin dances though the snow, her long legs seeming to never touch the earth while she moves. Silently, the woman disappears into the snow once more, leaving behind the fabric along a tall white pillar.

      The rag doll moves toward the Rotunda eagerly, her body dancing with excitement as she gazes at the multi-hued ceiling. Soft, cold lips reach out hesitantly, flared nostrils sniffing at the stone structure just before she touches a pillar. Excitement reveals itself in a loud squeal accompanied with perked ears and a toothy smile; she searches for the dark boarded eyes of her created friend, but ends with no result. She is still alone.

"Speech"
@[Bucephalus]
Open to all.