Memories trickled through the darkness. They were not a constant, steady stream, but random, isolated events.

A shadowmare walked with purpose away from her home, her daughters, her herd. By her side strode the strongest of the strong, her brothers and sister, those who knew her better than she knew herself. Together they would venture into the shadowlands. Together they would face this darkness.

For what did they have to fear of the dark? Born into lands where the Sun never rose, they were creatures suited to the black abyss of night; this did not scare them, despite the tales of what this particular brand of darkness had done to others.

Perhaps they were foolish with their faith. Perhaps they thought themselves invincible, for they had lived long lives, surely they were guaranteed to live a little longer.

Darkness…

Then, golden eyes captured the form of her own brothers tearing each other apart, having transformed into beings even hell could not describe. No! she remembered crying out, only to find herself facing a different foe. It crept up her legs, it froze her - she remembered the heat of fire from Akaith's golden maw spilling forth, she saw it burn at the shadows - but it wasn't enough.

Too slowly did she call upon the magic blessed to her. Too slowly did the transformation take place. When it had, the dragon had already been consumed by the dark…

Where are we?

Lost.

Are we home?

We are lost.

Are we alive?

Yes. But we are not living.

How?

Pain. That memory was fierce. It lanced through her, unforgivingly coating her flanks and barrel, a constant throb that was not dulled by her strange comatose position somewhere amongst the heavens.

Are you all right?

I am alive, as you are.

But we are not all right.

No. We are not.

Sometimes, the one who held a heart of a dragon within her breast saw life through the eyes of a dragon, or those she was born with; equine. Always, she felt the soul of her Akaith holding onto hers.

Madyrn, Maskan, what of them?

They were ripped from my senses. I fear their flames have burnt out.

And Rishima? Our sister?

I do not know…

Sometimes, in her dark abyss, she remembered doing nothing but writhe in pain. An when she reached out to her beloved, she knew the dragon too suffered from the same. Tears would have dripped from her golden pools, but she was not in a dimension where tears existed. She was in a dimension where only pain existed.

It was an eternity of waiting, of living this non-living existence. Soon, there was no remembrance of her life before, only her non-existence now, only her bond with Akaith and the darkness that suspended them.

Who are we?

---

Mirage, the voice called to her, it summoned her. From the depths of the dimension she resided within, the shadowmare responded, her heart leaping within her chest, her lungs filling with a substance they had not tasted for what felt like eons, air. As her body moved once again, she remembered it, the way it looked, the way it moved, the way it felt. And in remembering, she noticed that it moved differently, it felt different and yes, it looked different too.

It was not like the blessed marking that had appeared when the Goddess touched her that very first time she ventured into the World's Edge. It was a scar, jagged and criss-crossed, her mark of Cain, of the Shade's touch upon her shadowed hide. It stretched and pulled at her nerves differently to how she remembered - and for the first time in her life, the shadowmare felt old. Time had not stopped flowing in the dimension she had entered, her mind had been aware of its passing albeit inactive for the majority of it.

How many years do we stand now? she queried her beloved out of habit; and received the warm reply of Akaith within her vibrant membrane.

Too many, my love. Too many. It was laced with amusement and happiness, for here they were, alive again. They rejoiced in the seconds they had with just each other, embracing in that unique and wonderful way only souls can embrace, singing their chorus of joy to each other through the bond that no-one else was privy to - except perhaps a Goddess.

Return to me… the voice commanded, and as the Sun tried to break the horizon with its dawn, there rose instead a mystical twilight, a darkness that was not truly dark, a midnight canvas rimmed by the Sun's attempts at breaking it. The bracelet shone its peculiar white-gold hue upon her foreleg, another gift she had to thank her patron Goddess for. And now, she had to thank her for her life.

For there was no doubt in her mind that the mare was only alive now by the will of the Goddess. As the mare gathered her memories, and attempted to sort through them (knowing it would probably take the rest of her life to make sense of them), she recognised the dark dimension she had been it - it had to be of the Goddess' creation. Mirage recognised her touch now, in her memories, and drew comfort from it now when then it had been terrifying and painful - but it had allowed her to live.

From the midst of the shadowy depths of the lake, as summoned by the Goddess, came the mare crafted of shadows herself, golden eyes brightly shining behind dark lashes and silken strands of forelock, golden dragon perched upon the gentle slope of her withers. Across the darkness that was the lake the shadowmare strode, her devious smile back upon her maw, her cranium held so that she could best view the dark Goddess who had both created and summoned her from her cocoon of darkness all this time.

The Grove, Mirage voice spoke with wonder. All this time, we were in the Grove.

Nay, came the ever-wiser reply of her bonded. The Grove is simply where we are now.

"My Lady," her voice, which should have been cracked from misuse, came out smooth and melodic, deep and warm. As her hooves stepped upon the sands of the Grove before the Goddess, the mare bent her form suitable to pay homage to the one she now owed her life to - again, for being born upon the Path as Mirage had, she believed the Goddess to already be responsible for her original life-spark. Akaith murmured a low song to the dark queen before them, bowing her own draconic tiara to reflect the posture of her bonded's.

So many thoughts and questions tried to steal her attention, but she could not process them all, not yet. The mare held fast to her faith, for in this moment, it was all she had left.


@[God of the Moon]