The words stung, ice shards dancing in the wind across fresh skin. Had I been lost this whole time?

I thought I had found myself in violence. I thought the pool of blood I filled around my hooves, my hocks, my shoulders, my withers, my neck - I thought that contained my spirit now. All the loved ones I had known were bled dry, why should I not seek the pieces of myself in the blood of others? Ah, but I knew. I knew the truth.

I wear the mask of a monster in Eikkahn. I hide my true face from others. I sought to chase them away, scatter them from my side, to keep that which I hold precious alive. The heart which I claimed before no longer beat, the one battered beyond repair (or so I would wish to believe), rested safely from the reach of others. If they were afraid, they would not come closer. When I came to Helovia, I suppose I could have started that murderous spree anew.

This fragile dove in front of me, I could crush her delicate bones and spatter the Earth with crimson blood. I could attempt to wash myself of all remorse in her death. But... something is different.
Here, I am no longer angry.
The fire which fueled the beast's desire to kill, the quell the unease in his spirit through violence has died. The wind came, swept the embers away, leaving me with nothing but ash.
Cold, dry, delicate ash strewn across the floor.

Now, I have nowhere to hide from the reality.
I am lost. My soul is missing; it left with her. I want to scream at this mare, the one I sought to comfort, for bringing it to my attention.
I cannot.

Instead, I stare incredulously outward, my eyes seeking some other reality in the world, but finding none. Her remark was honest, sincere, and kind. I could choke on the bitterness in my throat as it rises in protest, but find myself silent and still. I cannot look at her, even as I hear the movement of feathers and flesh as her body is righted.

I expected her to force upon me a goodbye, a promise of future meetings, worthless pleasantries so common among strangers. Much like when she blatantly told me of her discontent, however, she does not offer me platitudes and falsities. She simply leaves.

It is when I no longer hear the rustling of leaves as she moves through the forest that I allow myself to laugh - a broken trill in the night.
If I could cry, perhaps I would.

""

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ooc -- Just wanted to tie this up. <3