How many other monsters haunted the painted woman’s past? How many ghosts did she hide in closets, lock in trunks, bury in the ground? Kahlua’s life was not especially long, but many things had happened to her fragile soul. It was not just when she was a monster, but when she had come across monsters. Aurelia and Shilva- monsters because she could not forget the way the scaled creature had flown through the air, landing lifelessly upon dusty ground, a death brought about by her own hooves and Aurelia’s reckless abandon. Her parents- monsters because of the cruel lifestyle that had brought her to believe was normal, and because of the neglect they had taught her to believe was right. Kaj- a monster…

No… She could not call him a monster. All he had ever done was make her fall in love with him. How was he supposed to know?

Was it fair to blame him for the way that his wing fit perfectly over her back? Was it fair to blame him for the way that, when her blue eyes met his, her heart felt lighter and her soul felt safe? Was it fair to blame him for wanting a family, loyalty and eternity, when all she knew was flightiness? Was it fair to blame him for desiring foals, when all she knew of newborns was chains and prisons, of broken dreams and dashed desires? It wasn’t fair at all, so in that case, she could not really call him a monster. In that case, the only monster that really existed was her. After all, she was the one that had broken his heart too many times to count. How many more times would it take?

She didn’t have time to think or count (perhaps it was better that way) because Maat started speaking again- a philosophical sort of speech that Kahlua hardly knew how to respond to. She had lost nothing? Then how had they stolen? Her brow furrowed, trying to sort through the muddy words, wondering if she had missed something because of her own introspective thoughts. And finding the ghosts to make things right… had that ever worked? She had found Mauja, a ghost in his own right, and what good had come of it? Nothing. Just hurt and death. It was the way of the world.

“I don’t know where I’m hiding from,” she admitted at last, seemingly as confused as Maat, though she had her own reasons for not knowing. Mauja was an outcast, a rover, a wanderer, with no home to call his own. Wherever he was at, that was the place she was hiding from him. At least not knowing meant she didn’t have to take Maat there. She was not ready to face him, not ready to ask him what blood stained his hooves now. If he wanted to explain, he would have to find her own his own. And even then… she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he had to say.

“I guess we could start where I live, though, in the World’s Edge. I’m Kahlua, that’s Khan,” she said, her words growing stronger the longer she talked, and the longer she allowed her tears to dry. Angling her body northwest, she started moving. “I don’t know how long it will take to find… what you’re looking for, exactly. But you could stay with us, if you wanted, until you do.” She didn’t know this mare well at all, but it was clear that she was troubled, and the queen would not turn her away. She understood well the need for a sense of stability when the rest of the world seemed to be crumbling.