|
Constant wandering through an empty desert drove the mares mind wild. Psychotic emotions, temptations, swirling about her head. Marking their distant, yet familiar, annoyance in her eyes. For some reason she felt broken, owned, less of who she was destined to be. Drained and down. Useless broken. She moped on. Caring less of anything anymore. So what she was a prisoner. Psyche had escaped and still not come for her. Elizabeth felt betrayed but knew if her destiny was to be here so be it. A prisoner was only a prisoner if it bothered them. Maybe in the beginning it disgusted her but now she had resorted to the back of her soul, crawled up, and hid. An emotionless robot on the outside. Walking without purpose.
Maybe to watch her in her motions you would see the blood she shed so long ago. You watch the curve of her horn rip apart skin. Her fantasy to belong within a service to plague her racism across the land. Not afraid to show it. Perhaps to attack her it'd be a waste of your energy because scars are scars. Pain is pain. Elizabeth was careless about her features. Disturbed by a hint of love in pain. Liking that feeling in the most horrible of ways. Weird, sick, disgusting. The cram of hooves slicing her skin or breaking bones, the instant throb and rush of adrenaline to block it all. Bad company until the day she dies.
Of course you had to understand she wasn't herself right now. She was a pointless body with a being locked up inside. Vacationing from a trap. Someone who's gone nuts. Broken mentally. Watch her eyes not move from one position. Ears casual and just flopped on her head. Listening, not. Each hoof planted, used, picked up and started over. Grains of sand like itchy annoying particles stuck to her feathered feet. Muscles stood out like bunched up cords. Head properly distributed at a highly respectable queen like height. Reliving the old glorious days without realizing it. There they were, her walking through the lined crowd. Dirt ground beaten and warn with the usual trample of hooves. A unicorn trio at her sides and behind. All four of them ready to attack any pegasus or equine that dared to arrive at her presence. Or maybe the times she sought them out in their homes.
Alkine her poor brother, the one she forced to murder a perfectly healthy naked. Elizabeth watching in amusement and proud facial features as her kin drove his horn across the hide. Through the lungs, flanks, neck. Any place she had taught him to be vulnerable. Perhaps Elizabeth was this way because of how young she was to begin her merciless killing. Training as a young filly and fighting on the battlefield as a mere adult, not even old enough to reproduce correctly. Can you imagine seeing the burning bodies, bloodied fields, and having racism drilled into you at birth. Like being born with a shot gun in her hands, hiding behind the gun to make her stands.
[ooc- Boom, if you don't have time its alright, this isn't a challenge/escape thread or anything xD]
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
Rebel Souls, Deserters They Call [Kri/Open]
