I could show you incredible things
(magic, madness, heaven, sin)
Through long, luscious hair, the wind sings, playing with the silky tresses as they dance against the mare’s slender neck. The jewelry she wears chimes softly, fastened among dark locks as the skinny threads of gold catch the sun’s light, glistening beautifully between the rosy flowers. Stretched out wide from her sides, the mare’s wings catch the breezes from the rapids below, holding her upon air currents that are quickly growing warmer with the imminent approach of summer.
Humming with pleasure as the warmth bathes her slender back, the pegasus closes her eyes, long lashes kissing the fine definition of her cheekbones.
Suddenly, the svelte line of her body arches, and bringing in her wings to hug her shoulders, the vixen is sent plummeting downwards. Where she initially circles in a wide spiral, Imogen tightens the angle of her body, straightening her path to a steady shot directly for the fertile land below. The ground rushes quickly towards her—dangerous, solid, and deadly—but the pegasus can only offer a sly, excitable smile.
Adrenaline surges deliciously through her veins. Soaking in the high of hormones, Imogen feels the hair on the back of her neck rise, sending a prickling shiver through her muscles. Still plunging through the crisp, spring air, she dives below the level of the Fall’s crumbled mountain range, plummeting until she can feel the mist of the waterfalls tickling her ears. Only then does she open her wings again, snapping them out with such force that the muscles in her shoulders strain painfully (deliciously) against the mighty force of her descent.
With the wind whistling through her primary feathers, the vixen alights along a grassy hillock, jogging several strides before she is able to draw to a complete halt.
Shaking out her wind-blown tresses, Imogen breathes heavily, feeling the irregular lub, dub-dub of her heartbeat against her ribs as it ushers the final taste of adrenaline through her body. A short moment of dizziness rises, but more than used to the sickly-sweet taste of danger (and its consequences), Imogen is able to brush past it quickly. Releasing a satisfied, breathy snort, she raises her head to the heavens.
“Speech.”
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
