The storm drew nearer, and the Transcended grew darker, shaded in part by the tree she hid under and in part by the rapidly approaching clouds. Her gaze was distant, glossy, reflecting the lightning flickering angrily before her. Somehow it reminded her of Aleta - indignant, furious, hurt, all because of Sohalia, all because her mother had failed her. How many times did the dove have to go through the same thing? Would she never learn? It seemed that around every curve, through every storm, she emerged unscathed; but the damage was always done to those she cared about, those she longed to protect. It was enough to make her want to scream, to cry, to beg the gods to tell her where she had gone wrong.

So she did.

The ivory mare stepped out into the storm, towards the waters of the oasis. She was not stupid enough to wander out onto the dunes in the current weather; however much she may think she deserved death, it was not her way to seek out suicide. Upon the choppy shores of their haven, as rain began to fall, the mare shrieked her fury to the heavens. Wind whipped through her mane and tail, ruffled her half-extended wings, twisted her long, delicate primaries. For the first time in her life, she felt an anger boiling in her blood, driving her to madness. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, glassy with an intoxicated need for something, anything to make her feel normal again.

There was no one around (or so she thought) - no one to hear her scream, no one to see her cry, no one to witness her temporary fit of insanity. The rain fell, drowning out her sorrow and her pain, dimming the brightness of her pelt. The lightning flashed, and she wondered if it illuminated her sins and her failures for all the world to see. The thunder rolled, offering her a respite from being discovered this way, a camouflage for all that she revealed to the world. There was nothing and no one, and for once, she couldn't care less.

Sohalia the Transcended, once-great crafter of the Dragon's Throat, now no more than a washed up Sultana that could not help herself, much less those she loved, stood on the shores of the oasis as the storm rolled overhead and rain drenched her hide. Her wings slowly folded tightly against her sides. Her head bowed; her eyes closed. The tempest consumed her, a solitary figure standing against the blackness of the trees, waiting, almost hoping, for the lightning strike that would end her suffering.

words words

OOC | Oh, wow, that got dark. O.O

@Gaucho