As she walks with the ocean's king, the sea greedily pushing forth to swallow the sand in the aftermath
of the storm, he sighs. It's a deep, haunting, lullaby the echoes from his maw, and the Seeker believes she may be lost in it's troubled caress.
The wind whips against her with a sudden, striking force, humid air that rushes against her violet orbs and causes them to water with the force of the
onslaught. It's a angered, harsh slap, and it screams its jealousy into her mind. It screams into her soul the stupidity of her actions,
the utter lack of reasoning skills that has brought her to this point in time. The glass shell inside her chest clangs with pangs of agony at its cries,
and as if in apology, it slows to the gentlest of kisses against her hide. But the damage has been cast,
the harsh ring of the wind's voice bitters her soul yet more. Yet she stumbles, the barest hint, onward, returning back to the graceful
pace of her steps.

Her question hangs with silence in the air, a formidable force separating the two of them from one another, and once more her gaze
is set ahead, in fear of turning to observe him. What would he think of her actions, the murder of her mother? It is only the soft hoof beats next to her that keep her steady, remind her that he is still here, for otherwise she would assume he had but raced away, disgusted, sickened by the blood that taints the ivory veil of her history.
Her dome hangs perhaps a little lower, a turmoil of emotions flooding her veins with far too much water. How much longer, how much longer until the dam breaks? The wind whispers, and she would cry out to it in anger, a feud between her long-trusted friend and her..
What is the general, what is the allgemeine to her?
What is their relationship?

But the voice calls to her again, his voice, distant, as if she herself was pressed underneath the waves of the ocean's force. She forces herself to focus on him,
despite the dizziness that has overtaken her at the wind's divine rage. He speaks of shame, a song of cowardice perhaps, cowardice? But was it so cowardly, to hide from
the bloodied sheet that cloaks your mind? Is it not the wisest choice to run from the demon, shed the old skin as a snake with it's scales?
A banished warrior, a broken, cracked general. But she is not content to go on as if he is pure, she wants to understand; she wants
to know what has caused him such self-loathing.

The mistress does not really recognize the general's next words, as she turns, as quick as the wind against her flesh had been to strike her. Sand was scattered at the force of her sudden movements, and she has paused now, her full attention given to the allgemeine.
"No."

The wisp of her voice is as the waves that crash against the stone, a timeless war between the element of Earth and Water, of Reality, and Dreams.
The ocean is dreams. She is a shattered dream.
Storms billow with emotions in the indigo depths that are focused upon the glaciers that the general deems his sight, rain and agony and hatred, though the hatred does not seem to be directed at the Lord of the Sea's. The hatred that is blown within the violet depths is much more ancient, as she remembers the angel's white wings and the taunts of his words. Half-breed, half-breed it cries, the wings seem to disappear into the oiled black surface of the crow kings dome, and with it comes so much more. Affection and horror and love and so many clashing of damned feelings that it swirls into one, dark storm beneath the pools surface. A hurricane that has been blown to sea, a battle against elements, a force so strong that it radiates from her frame and she tremors beneath the pull of the tug and war just beneath her skin.

But does the general recognize how loose the strings that tie her together are?
Does he?

The proximity of her elegant frame has become closer to the general's own, somewhere between the mixing of the elements, perhaps a step, two steps closer. Heat radiates from her flesh, droplets of water cling to her mane and tail even now from the torrential downpour they had only recently experienced. They gather upon her lashes, constellations formed at her gaze.
".. I will stand at your side with loyalty no matter what has occurred in the veil of your past. Tell me, what haunts you, my Lord?"