Her voice is harsh upon soft ears and something about the way she says it makes Ailith refrain from turning to look upon her. Circe. A Grey native, her family, whatever she might be in this setting does not make Ailith any more susceptible to her greeting. Perhaps she is thick-headed or stubborn but she cannot face the other girl with a smile plastered upon false lips. She cannot lie when the truth is so close to her heart… But she does believe in allowing her formality and so she turns her quiet face to her companion and nods solemnly. It is a halfhearted greeting on any account and the buckskin mare does nothing more to make her guest feel welcome. Instead she continues to peer into the porcelain reflection of her fate, pretend that things had gone differently in her life… pretend there was reason behind her cause now that she stood so close to the brink of realization.

For a time, Ailith stands facing the pool with her head low and her shoulders dropped. She is defeated. Whatever resemblance of her former courage and determination had all but disappeared and she is weak with the reminder of her submission. Tentatively, she backs away to turn lightly on her heel, coming face to face with her captor. In all reality, she is not caged or imprisoned, but her heart insists that she is just as much an outsider to these lands as those that left the day of the invasion. “Circe.” The word is a bare whisper upon her tongue and she is tired and lost and perhaps just a skeleton to the girl she once was. But she is alive…

Or is she?

There is nothing to suggest that the ghost not standing before such a strong mercenary had ever been filled with light and laughter. But then again, was there ever a moment in her life that was not filled with the melancholy of disaster? “Why are you here?” Her eyes are suddenly ravenous, hungry for explanation and for the truth that was so dutifully hidden from her in their last meeting. She demanded respect and she would see to it that it was rightfully given.

But of course, what Ailith couldn’t understand was that respect was earned, not granted.

The cold breeze of winter seemed to consume the two mares, disconnecting them from the present as they spoke with one another. It was a hauntingly beautiful sight to see but only the great creators would be able to recognize such abysmal attraction. However, behind closed doors, Ailith decided that for once she would let fate decide her path, even if that meant sacrificing her pride for the bridging of two worlds.