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The pure white unicorn drifted in with the snow, as softly as the flakes that fell on and around her. The mare’s head was carried low, not from exhaustion but from sorrow. Dark eyes, once so full of life, had dimmed. Her skin hung loosely on bones that were far too visible. She was obviously weak, too weak to be out braving the woods on her own, but she seemed completely unaware of her surroundings, fully occupied by whatever tragedy had reduced her to such a sorry state. Finally she stumbled, body unable to continue carrying her to wherever it was she was going. Uncaring, she allowed herself to collapse on the white blanket of snow, not knowing if she have the strength to rise again or if her carcass would be discovered later, frozen and eaten by wolves. She could already hear a faint howling in the distance.
Thoughts of angels filled her mind, one standing out more than the others, clad in black leather rather than the colorless robes of those who surrounded him. Her Azazel had always been a rebel, falling from Heaven just because he could, because the (supposedly) peaceful land had been too boring to make him stay. Dark eyes closed, and she let out a soft sigh, remembering the way his hand had felt stroking her mane. The memories wrapped around her, warm and comforting, much better than the cruel reality that she fought so hard to forget. Gradually, the mare descended into sleep, dreaming of summer pastures and the voice of the man who had been her god, while her body slowly began to freeze.
OOC:
Walking the walk
Talking the talk
Thinking my thoughts
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