It is so dark.

She hates it, almost as much as she hates herself. But they are one and the same, Yseulte and the darkness, and so she simply endures it, as she always has. There is no ridding yourself of darkness, she's learned, because only from light are shadows cast. Surely that meant she wasn't entirely terrible, right? She could feel Itzal sneer in her mind, playing on her doubts like a predator that toys with its prey before shredding it to pieces and devouring it in the same bite. He is the darkness, she realizes sadly, but his darkness is mine, because he is part of me.

She sees shadows of her father in him, from time to time. In the beginning, she did not dare to look too long, fearing what she would find refelected back at her in those violet depths of her tiger companion's luminous eyes. Despite her best efforts, she would find herself enthralled and ensnared in his gaze, frozen like a leaf in a winter pond. It unnerved her, what Itzal could do by simply looking at you. Trapped. That was the feeling she often pondered as she stood rendered immobile before him, unable to move or pry her gaze away from his until the sensation of falling abruptly jolted her from his grasp. Zjarri, her monstrously beautiful father, had been able to do the same. The power of his presence was nearly irresistible, but once you looked into his eyes, you were his.

Forever.

She had difficulty imagining her father as a child. Nonetheless, she was distinctly reminded Zjarri whenever she found herself watching Itzal's reckless antics. He was a sourly, angry youth, full of resentment, bitterness, and arrogant pig-headedness. He was especially prone to reckless, impulsive behavior, and enjoyed bullying lesser animals than himself. It concerned her, more than she even dare express to herself, lest Itzal pry through her thoughts and extract it himself. He would only increase the behavior if he knew it unnerved her.

Despite their many differences (as well as an uncanny resemblance of character that she preferred not to think about), the two journeyed together in the darkness. She followed the luminous violet glow ahead of her, catching flashes of his eyes between the trees, iridescent purple and silver. Snow kissed her withers in the gentle embrace of winter—one she was all too familiar with, and her crippled hind leg simply ached thinking of that wintry night atop the mountain, when wolves had bayed all around her in the night. The lack of light and warmth was suffocating, and the dense trees pressing in all around her did naught to relieve her frayed nerves and aching leg. Instead of freezing her voluptuous purple ass off, why didn't she simply abandon this fruitless voyage and return to the blazing fires of warmth and comfort at World's Edge? She did not know which grieved her more—the darkness or the flames. Both awakened long-dead memories and sins she would much rather leave forgotten in the darkest cobwebbed corner of her mind.

Instead of turning back, she presses on blindly, stumbling in the darkness and leaving every remembrance of warmth and light behind her with every passing step. Itzal snarls softly somewhere to her left, a familiar sound that he uses when he swears under his breath. That could only mean one thing: they had company.

And my, what a comely creature she is. Curious and cautious, Yseulte watches the damsel before revealing herself. Glimmering moonlight washes the stranger's coat a silvery-brown, but in the sunlight, surely there could not be a color more rich and dark and lovely than the dappled brown of her skin. And those eyes! Like Itzal, she sports venomous violet eyes that are unusually bright and bold in the darkness. Violet It is the name Yseulte has long since chosen for her future daughter, should she ever conceive such a child.

The unicorn is beautiful, certainly. More beautiful than herself? It is a thought that amuses the iron maiden, with her cold, beautiful face and diamond-hard eyes. Perhaps, and perhaps not. She considers her greeting ahead of time, and decides flattery might yield the best results. Flattery is next to useless when used on Yseulte herself (she is perfectly aware of her beauty and does not need constant reassurance), but in her experience, she has found mares desire beauty above all else.

But Yseulte genuinely hopes the intelligent glitter to this unicorn's eyes will prove her wrong.

"You have lovely eyes," Yseulte says at last, revealing herself and striding slowly through patches of moonlight, doing her best to conceal the limp that plagues her every step. But the stranger is not without weakness, either, Yseulte notes. The brown damsel's legs shiver violently, but whether from the cold or simply exhaustion, Yseulte doesn't know. Perhaps both. Nonetheless, Yseulte boldly approaches, her expression as iron and unfathomable as ever. "But your lovely eyes won't keep you warm, dear sister."