I raise a brow at her response to me, unamused and lightly annoyed that she called me a baby. "I'm not a baby— I'm older than you." I sneer, lip twitching in disgust that this child thinks that she was anything better than me, that we were on the same level. I was heir to an Empire, she was nothing— she was less than the worms in the dirt, than the sweat that clung to my brow and the flies that landed atop my hip during the hot summer months (that I haven't experienced yet, but soon).

And I see how quickly she angers, how her temper flares and her muscles tighten and tremble. She is a meek sight, a laughable sight— she is pathetic and smaller than I (better enjoy it while it lasts, I won't be the tallest for long), and I can't help but look her over with disregard over her foolish fury. Even her chick is enraged, flailing its disgusting little wings at me like that will do anything to deter my opinion about the idiocy of the two before me.

Somewhere I'm hoping that she'll try and attack me with her needle sized horns, slashing and jabbing with a recklessness only a fool could manage (to which she was). So I arrogantly look upon her with disapproval at her language, shaking my head like it was my right to tell her what she could and could not say (for it was, as the hair to a grand empire). "Well then why did you ask?" If she had not been searching for an answer, for an upper hand— then she would have let the subject be. But with a mind where little thought influenced her words and actions, the question came and from it no response. I simply drew back an ear and shifted my gaze to the water colour world beyond her petite monochrome figure, finding the smudged lines and indiscernible features of nature to be far more aesthetically appealing to look at than the appalling child at my hooves.

"It's a shame he didn't off you— the world would celebrate having one less of your kind." But it was most likely that her father was just like her, that the diseased blood of a mongrel crept through their veins and grew hosts in the wombs of idiots. I wanted to spit back, 'at least he knows you're alive.' Because Volterra has never before laid eyes upon me, he's probably never even heard my name before. I bet he doesn't even know I (or Sabre) exist. A plus parenting right from the get go (it seems to be a trend with my parents).

I didn't have a reaction to give for the flatness of the tone the filly spoke with, her midnight face and etched wounds focused solely on me, haunting me for I knew well that my future looked like that— that Mother would one day be unable to hold back and I will suffer for her mistakes. There will be no anguish or despair for her crimes either, just bitterness and ignorance, a stubborn personality that would seal her lips from ever speaking of her foul temper. So I will stand and wait for that day, in constant uncertainty if that day be today or tomorrow— if I will live to see the Tallsun months and become the Emperor Mother dreams of.

I give no acknowledgement of her words, ignoring completely the insults and accusations (of being ugly) and just laughing, blatantly letting loose a tremor of giggles that erupted from her pitiful attempt at low hit to my feelings. "I'm the prettiest thing those eyes of yours will ever see," I tell her matter-of-factly. Perhaps in part I believed it true, that my macabre mask and brindled limbs would be the prettiest scene those stormy eyes of hers would ever witness.

"And my mother—unlike yours— doesn't rely on anyone else to do things for her. If she wanted me dead, I would be. She isn't a lazy idiot like your mother, or a failure like your father." I don't even address Volterra, tail swiping against my thighs to accentuate the end of my sentence, a high and mighty look befalling my face as I wait and watch the girl's spattered features, awaiting the tears that I so eagerly hoped to receive for my dedication and willingness to bring ruin to her insignificant existence. I was probably going to be the most important and kindest person she ever talked to. Although there was no hope for her— she disgusted me and did no job of saving herself from my future wrath. For when I wield the king's scepter and tow calamity in my wake, she will be of the first to know my royal fury.

"Talk."

kid