She speaks of heartache, of envy and disappointment, and I listen in silence, both surprised and touched by her sudden willingness to confide in me. My own black gaze held compassion as I saw her eyelashes flutter shut and a great surge of emotion cross her face. Dear little child. My mind is still as I wait, body shifting to stand open, vulnerable, welcoming. Why did I feel such kinship with this filly, why did I feel care instead of detached curiosity? The conondurum threatened to draw my thoughts back in on themselves, to shut me down; luckily, Ophelia's soft voice distracts me from my own mind.

The injustice of denial is one I am all to familiar with, and even more so the cruelty of bigotry. Sadly, there was no reassurance I could offer Ophelia, only sympathy for her distress. Some believed that in time, racism would die out; the world would become just. But I have never believed it. "You will find those who fear what they are not no matter where you go." It is no comfort, only a fact, calm and tragic. There is a tiredness in my voice, an edge of uncomfortable familiarity and a whisper of a story I have no desire to tell. Instead, I step forward through the fallen leaves, and press my muzzle against the ivory child's shoulder, a rare physical offering of solidarity and support.

But she is not finished, and as she utters her final confession, my breath catches. I draw away, dark eyes focused on her pale face, and for a moment silent threatens to swallow us whole. A chord has been struck, something deep and painful, something I do not want to examine. Yet she has confided in me, and I owe her a return.

Quietly, softly, darkly, it is released. "I understand. Empty empathy? Uncomfortable comfort? No. There is a broken sincerity in my voice, a hesitant honesty. I do understand.

"I too have a sister - a younger one." There is loneliness in the knit of family, a painful tightness in the breach of those ties. Every moment I spent in the company of those closest to me held the seeds of bliss, as did the sanctity of their memory. "She is dearer to me than anything in the world; no matter how far apart we drift, we always come back to one another." And yet every instant held too a pinch of latent agony, a clinging sense of urgency and a fear for its end, for I knew that it would end, and that our worlds, while inexplicably intertwined, would cease for that moment to directly overlap. "But my little sister has grown up, and now she commands the love of many, while the bonds I make are few and fragile." My sister never truly left my side, yet was never truly there - not the way she had been when we were young and all we had were each other.

"There are times when I wish things were as they once were - that my little shadow was just a filly, counting on me to guide her through the world." Black stare is focused on the trees; a wistful expression dances across my face, the masks I wear weakened as I remember my little Mirage as an eager child. I watch her age into a gangly foal, a graceful yearling, a shadowy mare.

Unchecked, a smile softens my face. I turn back to Ophelia, black eyes gentle as they caress her own two-toned gaze. "There is no shame in longing to be loved, Ophelia." My voice is serious, inky tiara lowered to gaze evenly at her level. "But always remember, the truest affection is that which comes without a price." Mirage no longer needed me, but she would always love me, and I her. We would always stay within each other's hearts, bound forever by a sisterhood deeper than blood.

Abruptly I sigh, a deep exhalation erupting into the dark of the woods, tension I did not know I held slinking away from tired muscles and tight shoulders. The confession took something out of me; I feel a bright sting of vulnerability, as though a great gaping expanse had been carved into my chest. Nobody knew of my latent uncertainty. Now, Ophelia did. I wondered what other secrets she would extract from me, before the evening's end.