Bellisma

The small, golden mare had slipped into the maze of bamboo the moment she’d relinquished Kianzo to his family—or, perhaps more accurately, the moment she had withdrawn herself from the golden prince. There had been many reasons she had pulled away from the ashen colt. The small, gilded pixie told herself it was because she had accomplished her intentions: she had softened the brutal and malicious edge in Kianzo. Where she had seen malevolent demons begin to take hold, she felt she saw something kinder weaken their hold.

But, all the rationale she poured into that reason was to silence the other reason she had withdrawn from the dark prince. The longing.

At first, the beaten woman had kept her distance—figuratively and physically—from the colt. The touches of others had brought her nothing but pain for most of her life. But the mare was a social creature—despite the beatings—and Kianzo was naught but a colt. Unthreatening, slowly bending to her teachings and listening to her suggestions. So, eventually her instant recoils ended, no longer fearful of the accidental brushes of foal-fuzz against her thin, golden skin as they walked.

And, slowly, she had began to relax; allowing her hide to absentmindedly brush against his; a tail-brush to sweep across both their flanks in dual-pest-patrol. That hadn’t been a problem. That had been… nice. Wonderful, even. The first time touches and nearness hadn’t immediately brought pain or shame.

But then…

Then the small mare found herself reaching for that contact. Allowing her small, delicate muzzle to linger along his dark, foal-fuzz mane. Pushing her golden side along his youthful one—because that was all she knew from her past: forced intimacy. Her young, tortured mind never had a chance to explore friendship or other relations besides sexual ones.

And she knew it was wrong. She knew she had stolen this colt from his family—much as she had been stolen from hers. He was so young…

Her copper hide twitched in humiliation, as she remembered how she had to force herself to leave the colt. How she had craved for his companionship, his warmth, his scent while she hid from her longings deep in the maze of bamboo stalks.

Though, it was fear that pushed her out of the misty maze—she had felt the lift of Kaos’ bubble—like taking a step up stairs when you’ve already reached the top. That heart-dropping moment when you think the entire world was dropping away…

So the tiny, painfully elegant golden woman stepped towards the edge of the Labyrinth.