This beach - it reminds her of Isilme. It reminds her of
home.
Oh how she yearns to return, to frolic in the saline waters of the Moonlit Tides; the acrid brine kissing her pale physique, embracing her like a kindred lover. Instead, she is trapped here, in this imposter of a home: this land known as Helovia - the land of the sun - whereas Isilme lays so far away. The dappled mare's beloved land of moonlight, with her once magnificent valleys and russet mountain peaks, lays stagnate in ruinous decay, her borders overrun with the irate, restless spirits of the dead. She pines for the cool breath of the mountainous breeze to sweep past her mottled hide, the cerise rock of her Windswept Cliffs clapping against her dished hooves.
Never again. She thinks helplessly, desperately. What a cruel twist of fate to be denied the comfort of her one true home; the place of her birth; the land of peace and love and hate and war all simultaneously.
"Isilme." She whispers, the word dancing idly along the churning whims of the oceanic breeze.
She stands stagnant upon the shore, a melancholy expression seizing her habitually heartsick plum eyes. She peers out across the ocean, the indigo surf reflecting against a pristine, azure sky. Her heart aches, her facade transmitting in earnest the plight that swarms within her cavernous breast. The wind hies past her, coaxing lavender-tipped feathers to whistle against the calming current, unfurling as the breeze whispers into pricked ears. Momentarily, she escapes the oppressing shackles of longing and is once again standing upon the gilded beach she had come to love so dearly.
Mauve eyes squeeze shut as she relishes in the fleeting moment of
bliss. Her eyes open, reality encroaching like a ton of bricks.
Inwardly, the harlequined damsel weeps.
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