It had not been a mission from her father that had sent her away this time—no permissions or wishes of good will had trailed after her escape. Only abandonment had been left in her wake, a hollowness that lacked any explanations or promises of return. Far, far away she had traveled (ran), the frightened erratic trembling of her heart negating any fight of fire that might’ve burned in her voltaic eyes. Is that what she has become now? A stray vagabond, tethered beneath the shadows of legends, reduced to little more than a mouse beneath their vast, vast prominence?

Trapped in its shallow grave, she can feel the lion roar, fighting against the chains that hold it back (a caged bird)—the beast that has reared its head on too few occasions. And it is hungry, anxious and ready to be released. Why does she keep it caged? (Why must it remain bound, even when she tries to allow teeth and claws to rip forth like the war maiden she was born to be?)

It is only when she had fled, when she had again succumbed to the very same fear and frustration that had haunted her, that she had found herself able to breathe again. Released from beneath her parents’ mighty stature and trailing away from the powerful footprints they have left behind (a path she had been expected, had told herself she had to follow, had to mirror), that she was able to just be again. Simply Zenobia. No obligations to excellence, no shoes to fill, no expectations of worth or grandeur. Given the opportunity to be on her own and yield to the wills of her own heart, she had thrived—blossomed beneath her very own triumphs, even beneath her own mistakes (if only because they had been hers).

Perhaps, for too long she has taken the weight of others’ burdens and placed them upon her own shoulders (and held them there of her own will, with no requirement of anyone else, because she, alone, had to hold everything and everyone together). It is a lesson she is still grasping to understand, to accept, to let go. With a plethora of siblings looking up to her, it is difficult (nearly impossible) to accept any mistakes or flaws of one’s self, to release the gauntlet of eldest and just simply live.

It is this reason, among others, that deters the white mare from gliding like an arrow straight to her desert homeland. When the familiar mountain ranges and forest lands had begun to pass beneath airborne hooves, she had already decided that, at least for now, she would make her own way in Helovia—forge her own path, build herself up, and discover the Amazonian warrior that lies readily behind her electric gaze. That isn’t to say she is forsaking her family. Both Mama and Papa are loved, adored, along with her siblings—family is so ingrained into her soul, she couldn’t possibly remove them. But it is time, at last, for her to discover what she is capable of outside of her family’s great distinction.

With a sweeping whisper of wind and the scuff of hooves against stone, she alights among the many rivulets of hot, glowing lava—their voltaic blue not unlike that of her own gaze. The cold warmth is brilliant in the hazy light of dusk, framing every delicate, angular curve of the mare’s body with a halation of blue and sharp shadows. Electric eyes dance involuntarily to the horizon—to the dark shadow of the island, visible in the distance like an echoing admonition. She must be strong. Pressing her wings to her sides, she turns away, swinging her head around to face the four, crumbling altars instead.


notes; Open to all! Figuring her out for myself, so I apologize for any choppiness/jumping around. So excited :D
“Speech.”