Ophelia found herself north with plenty of things to do and every single one of them seeming less and less important. Movement was difficult, and her alabaster middle seemed more round and less lithe. She grimaced angrily as she pushed forward toward the mountains, cloven hooves splayed more than usual beneath her increased weight. The cool of the snow and ice seemed to melt against her body, and despite the crisp wind, she felt warm. Was she ill? Ophelia had heard of the disease of worms in the gut - was this it? Too embarrassed and too afraid to talk to the medics of her own herd, she foolishly wandered alone to collect her thoughts. The mare had never had good survival instincts; most of the power of her mind when to her memories.
Finally, breathless, she stopped and groaned, feeling light headed and nauseous. She punched out a breath and closed her eyes, trying to remember anything that had happened to cause this illness. Ophelia had always wandered, but never out of Helovia. The Spectral Marsh seemed murky and foul... was some sort of parasite living there that decided to take up residence in her system? She had never heard of that happening before. The battle had gone well, but she had not exactly exerted herself, so that could not have caused this fatigue and weight gain.
Pregnancy was out of the question because to get pregnant, one would actually have to sleep with a stallion. Considering that the only stallions in her life were too respectful of her to push for carrying on their lines through her, she was positive that carrying a child was out of the question. Ophelia remained pure in that regard. She wondered, actually, if she would feel desire and want like others when they were in love? Without normal instincts, would her body respond? The curiosity of that unknown made her want to try, but the thought of waltzing up to Mauja and asking "would you breed with me so I can know if I like it?" was agonizingly embarrassing.
So what? What was going on? In any other situation, she would have gone to the Sun God's shrine and prayed, but he had abandoned her. Ophelia no longer had her guiding light to explain to her the world and its ways. He had cast her into darkness to stay, and so now, she stood under darkness, lost.
The moon overhead bounced off the shards of stone that had woven into her mane and tail, sparkling brightly like a star and reflecting against her pale coat. Ophelia was nearly a bright star herself in the snow, twinkling brightly. There was no use in praying or speaking. Who would answer? She was forsaken.
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