I feel lucky, with the worst luck.

She had been busy, yet still been a recluse. The scarred mare often walked the Edge, doing her best to not encounter any other creature. Words were too difficult to formulate for her, as of late. She had been so exhausted – so tired of the same old thing. It was nice, in a way, when she stayed by Tilney’s tree. He was able to be enveloped in the embrace of a loved one, with their prodigy by their side throughout the night. But if the Glazier had to be honest, it hurt a bit more than the happiness she felt for them.

Glasgow wasn’t getting any younger, and in fact, she was growing bored. She didn’t have a special someone – hell, people usually didn’t stop to talk with her anyway. Was it her scars or her actions, she didn’t know. She just knew that whenever she turned up places, equines seemed to scatter. She supposed she should’ve been used to it by now, after all the years she had spent finding Helovia only to succumb to the same problems here at home rather than across the continent. So she changed her sleeping schedule to accommodate. She spent a majority of her night working with her crafting and working with the glass wall.

That was where she found herself. It was bright, early in the morning where the sun hadn’t quite crested over the horizon. She was tired, but working diligently. She had found a rather large maple leaf that had begun to fall with the chill of winter, dragged it over to her station, and began to carefully pick up the pieces of glass that littered their borders, placing them ever so carefully on the maple leaf and moving on until she had accomplished getting the glass away from that side. A soft sigh escaped her lips. It was far too much work for one person, but for two it might make quick work. Yet, Anzanie seemed to constantly be away and privately unwilling to work (as it appeared to the Glazier) and so she thought of someone who might.

There was that blood red Pegasus, marked much after the vultures she had seen in her travels that had peaked interest in the craft, and so she called upon him. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, really. Would he come to her? Would he even know who she was? Or would she be forced to continue the work on her own?

"Talk."

then I met you—

when i felt messed up

Glasgow