There is a flatness in her voice, a seeming disappointment that I cannot quite establish as true or simply my own worried projections of her disapproval. It has been years since I was called upon to guide the young, and as that venture ended in heartache and disaster, I could hardly find any surprise in the faulting of my motherly instincts. Yet it would seem that I had not completely ruined my chances to help the sweet Ophelia, or lost her open trust. As she confesses her desire to be needed, I cannot help but smile wanly. To be needed is not as nice as it may seem. I kept my ties loose, my threads frayed, simply to avoid being needed. I skirted upon the edges of interaction, outside the boundaries of relationships; I sought not to hurt, and not to help with misinformation, misguidance. It took me outside of my comfort zone, to be confronted with this child's needs, her pain and her doubt, and yet I could not let down that hopeful face. She did not need to know of my own desire to not be needed - besides, had I not been like that at one point? Eager to help, to guide, to have my sister and brothers need me?

Once. Long ago.

"Others will need you, little Sleuth. Why, even now, doesn't the Throat need your expertise?" I smile at her, forcing comfort and reassurance into my gaze even as the words feel bland against my tongue. But thought has failed me, and I have nothing more to offer. Life is hard, little Ophelia; but you already know this.

She questions the relationship between myself and Mirage, pointing out similarities? Were we similar to these two fillies, the pale child and the other I knew not? "Perhaps we are," I intone, darkly accented tones gently suggestive, easing her out of her shell and willing her to open up further, "But I still know little of you and your sister." It is true; I know only of the fear of loss, which is a constant thorn in the sides of family, her concern that the twin has outgrown the other. Did we bear any similarities? My voice grows soft as I reflect on the ties held between my shadow and I. "In the case of Mirage and myself," I begin, distracted by my thoughts, a shadow of pleasure in my eyes, "We have always been close. She is two years younger than I, and although we are not sisters by blood, we are dear in our hearts." There is a ferocity, a vivid passion for the sister I adored, that marks sincerity in every line of my facade. "We have twin brothers, my age, and so we would have to unite in our defense against them. I taught my sister to play, to question, to explore; and now, I watch her blossom. She is a social creature, my Mirage, a charismatic leader. She is adored, and it is... hard, sometimes." Now, bitterness, the pale ghost of envy for what Mirage had gained. A deep breath, a fierce exhalation into forest air. I turn to Ophelia.

"I wish I could care as easily as she does, but I have been hurt more than she knows. I have broken the heart of the stallion I loved; I have seen the colt I cared for mauled by bigots and beasts." I spit the words, a heavy hatred suddenly blooming within my heart. Hatred for them, for him, for myself. Hatred for the world and its injustices. Hatred for my failure, my fear. "Mirage has found love, and she will soon have little foals running around her heels, no doubt. I only with I could do the same... that I could reforge ties. But I fear my old age has left me bitter, and I have abandoned the thread of our conversation!" The confession is ended with a false laugh, a sudden desire to redirect the conversation away from my trials. That I had said so much, revealed so much, to a filly I barely knew... it left me mildly disconcerted, suddenly self conscious.

[ yeah... I got nothin' better xP ]