We're All Together (Psyche)

We're All Together (Psyche)

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380

Deceased

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE

RayoDeSoleil

10-24-2012, 12:26 AM (This post was last modified: 10-25-2012, 05:36 PM by Psyche.)

Ah, the past. His words were true; she carried her past with her everywhere she went. It was impossible to escape; even the slightest things triggered a surge of memories, most painful. Now, as her pelt brushed the stallion's, one of the better ones caught her up, leaving a distant gaze in its wake. She remembered her flirtations with Mauja, those unknowable feelings that she had felt for him. It was hollow now, and try as she might to return to the way things were, she feared that her wrongs against the FrostHeart would never become right. She had borne his seed, willingly, intending to become the Queen of the Edge; she had manipulated his right into her clutches, only for her hard work to scatter like ash on the wind when she realized that she cared... It was the only time that her careful plotting had backfired.

And yet how easy it was to slip back into the same frame of mind. She could perhaps use this one to further her goals, just as she had once used the King. The heart-marked steed seemed to be a creature of irony; she would have expected a flirtatious buck, perhaps with a bit of a seductive streak. But perhaps she had misjudged on appearance, a deadly mistake - many had died at her horn for just that. Did this realization warrant a change in the shadow-mare's plan? Perhaps. She found herself curious, now, having fed a half-truth to him for her own past. From where had he come?

She spoke slowly, as though in thought; truth be told, she did have to plan her words, this time, having not formulated them carefully beforehand. "You are right there," she began, trying to get a feel for this stallion. "What past follows you here, if I may?" It was so unlike her to ask permission; she berated herself for a moment, warning against the dangers of a slipping facade. She did not ask, she demanded; the jackal could not afford to go soft, or to appear so. She must - no, she would - maintain her appearance. Otherwise, who would trust her to lead, much less trust her to conduct battle? She would rein in her tongue, then, before she spoke again.

[W/C | 379]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.