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We make ourselves known. I, the king of my own company, gallop forth with gloriously glistening wings outstretched. Your broad and silent paws carry you across the stone bridges in a thunderously graceful way that I can only admire, but I have my own pride to attend to. My red hooves strike the frigid rock that rests above the blue lava beneath us and create a sharp, resonating clatter. The sound of my approach rings in the air, joining the faint ruffling of my feathers as the morning wind slides beneath my ivory primaries. Together we cut a swathe through the barren remains of a once-holy land; side by side we cease all motion in a glorious rear and bound before the ruined shrines. The red feather, caught in the black lock that is all that remains of the dead mare's memory, glimmers in the dim light of the early morning. It is my prize- my proof of purchase, and my token of success. With eyes glowing white, I gaze upon the shrine of the one god who's ever found the time for us. That bastard belonging to the sun... or does the sun belong to him? You have long since healed and regained the vitality I once took from you. The guilt still hangs in my breast, clinging desperately to a cold heart that beats only by magic, but I find it easier and easier to forget recently. The warmth of you as your ruddy white fur presses against the underside of my stomach is a comfort; the view, from the corner of my eye, of your joyously waving tail is a pleasure. I stand at attention, sleek and attractive form of the living soaking up the faint light shed by the lava below. Behind me a long tail strikes the rock impatiently, and before me an expanse of blue heat extends. I remember with curiosity the mare by Helovia's heart. She had chosen death over life. It was a decision I had never been afforded the opportunity to make. I wonder, as I stand now an attractive stallion, what I would have done. I do not think I would choose to succumb. But then again, when one falls apart, it isn't truly a choice. My decay shines through the illusion of my falsely beating heart, and in moments I appear before the shrine as a disfigured young colt once more. But this is how I am meant to be, isn't it? I turn to you as your magic ignites and edges your fur in flame. Yes, this is how we were meant to be. [[link]]  |
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please tag Prometheus in all replies!
magic & force is permitted at your own peril.
