Harsh and jagged flinch tears through my muscle as her hooves echo through the chasm, a sudden wave of fury surging through my veins, making me hot, hot, so hot with irrational anger and something else, something even worse. Envy. She was everything I could not be.

She had everything I wanted.

I knew it was her, and I knew that she had arrived because she sensed my need, and it only hurt more. Her dulcet nature, her pure affection; sharp as daggers, the kindness she would offer prematurely slashed through the musculature of my heart, swords of mephitic solicitude that stung more fiercely for my blooming desire to reach out and take her comfort. I longed to hold her, and yet I shuddered at the idea of her sympathy. I would be strong for my little sister, not let her see me cocooned in despair. I loathed that she should find me like this, and I loathed myself more for my inability to contain the pain.

Even as Mirage circled round to where I stared, aimless, I shifted away. So wild were the suddenly rekindled emotions within my breast, I could not bear to look at her, to let her see the depth of sorrow in my eyes. Her shadowy presence weighed against me, and I tightened myself, drawing away, flush against the frozen wall as though seeking to delve into it. Perhaps the heat of my temper could ravage the molecules of the ice around me and forge a hole in which I might vanish.

Childish thoughts, childish emotion. And yet I clung to the anger, for as long as I remained shrouded in that, I would not be able to mourn. The memories of one loved pressed harsh against my mind, the idea of the loneliness that awaited me outside this frozen cave a cold and perilous gnaw against my growing control. A deep breath is taken, the frozen air burning against my lungs, the excruciating thrill of ice flowing down my swollen throat somehow satisfying. Muscles relaxed, slightly; mind fluid now, expanding back into the embrace of Mirage, but tentatively. Despite some amount of regained control, I remained volatile. I let my face move, search, and rest upon the ice, the bite of frigid atmosphere pleasant against my the flush of my cheek.

The soft thud of footfalls breaks my distracted concentration, forcing me into abrupt movement. Form shifts onto bent knees even as the winged cat slinks into view, straightening into a dizzy stand. Legs wobble, threatening to throw me back onto the cold ground even as the world spins around me; I stumble, catch myself, righten. Eyes and brain connect, the throbbing against my cranium eases, and now I am caught in the awkward expanse of emptiness that follows one of my breakdowns. I want to say something, to shatter the stupor of brooding misery I have set myself in, and yet my tongue lies heavy and useless against my gums. Instead, I wait, still resentful of the defensive stance Mirage has taken, yet somehow aware that I would be grateful for her presence once my anguish drifted away. I wish to apologize, for what I know not. For letting myself be seen like this? For forcing them to witness my anguish? For not being good enough, never being good enough? And yet all of these things are beyond my control, and I know it, and it infuriates me that I cannot make everything right.

A great weight of sorrow settles upon my shoulders, and my gaze drifts back to the bright spot of open sky that lies beyond the lip of the cave. Irises softened by tears direct themselves towards the gryphon again, light slowly edging back into their dark depths, and suddenly I laugh, harsh and self-depricating and just too on edge. For what else was I to do? The situation is so comical, Mirage and I and a predatory gryphon who perhaps saw us as a tasty morsel. It is only a brief explosion of mirthless noise, lulling quickly back into silence as I shift my gaze towards the melting ceiling, blinking as a droplet lands directly on my nose. "Lovely day, isn't it?" is murmured at last, bitter and coarse vocals fighting against condensation to make their way into the stagnant air, eyes clenched gently against the shame of my emotion, tears once more threatening to escape from darkened orbs. The words are offered to the ice as much as Mirage or the gryphon, the child of an urgent need to escape this oppressive quietude. I shake my head, gently, and shift my weight, suddenly full of anxious energy. I needed to flee, to run, to fight, to laugh - anything, before the next onslaught of feeling threw me deeper into my pit of writhing depression.