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The wind whips at her back, carrying the scent of salt and sea and sand with it, swirling and spinning around her, overwhelming and distracting as it claws at her mane and tosses granules of the sandy shore up to bite at her skin. Nature’s antagonism guiles Larkspur with its siren’s call, taunts and tempts her to be reduced to nothing but an empty entity, a hallow shell discarded on the shore, an opportunity to escape and forget herself entirely. At least for now.
“I do not believe we’ve met, Miss. Yet you look as if I’ve wronged you in the past. I want no trouble; I’m merely passing through back to my home.”
Larkspur grinds her teeth thoughtfully, biting her tongue in a moment of clarity that begs her boiling temper to remain silent. This mare, this Romani character, was absolutely right, she had done nothing of any sort to deserve the venomous look that radiated and flickered in flame like quality from the cerulean mare’s yellow-gold eyes. But Larkspur had never had any manners or reason to find propriety useful, and now was no different. History had already cemented the foundation for hatred, sewing abhorrence into her bones, allowing it to race unfettered through the blood in her veins, unexplained in its existence, but there all the same. She was a unicorn, a warrior, an untamable and fierce creature driven by pride and dignity, born of the earth and the stars, indescribable and imposing in her manifestation.
And today she allows herself to fall into the framework of her past, a history riddled with battalions and vicious battles, of mindless, senseless chaos and discord. Instinct instructs her to remain in bitter denial, glaring eyes, caustic and corrosive in their intensity, unable and incapable of trust or reason. Somewhere she can hear her mother’s voice, calm and pleading in serene, sorrowful syllables, mixed with the wild crashing of the ocean against the coastline at her back. Larkspur ignores the ghost though, ignores the lamenting wails of disappointment that assault her senses, drive her fury, make her think of her father’s broken, lifeless body amongst a sea of his brethren’s blood.
The past, haunting, dark and daunting, blinds and deprives her of seeing the light.
“Home?” She laughs, a bitter and biting sound that leaps from her throat in such a way to suggest madness, rough, guttural and crass. “How is it that we claim to belong somewhere, when eternally we are nowhere at all?”
Larkspur’s resolve crumbles and collapses like a broken cliff side rampart into the churning waters of the sea, standing still, yet lost in the turmoil of her desolation, her self-destruction, another scarred and jaded windfall amongst the multitudes. Dark hooves churn and shift in restless distress at the ivory sand, it clings to her legs like the snowflakes of Frostfall, if only it held the same mind numbing cold. Perhaps then she could have stopped this madness before it started, but caution is long gone, common sense wanting hopelessly for restored restraint. Innocence does not dwell here, no freedom from sin or moral wrong, only wild and reckless abandon, snarling and mad like a rabid dog, begging for a fight.
Temptation calls, a lost friend, and the stormy mare answers gladly.
“Tell me, are you afraid?”
[OOC: Thank you!! Sorry Lark is being so hateful, she is having a bad day. x3]
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