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12-26-2013, 12:38 AM
 power loves not the light of day
She wanders still, the deposed Empress, having yet to find a home. The cold north no longer appeals to her as it once did, though she carries the winter coat still. The southern lands are far too warm for her tastes, and so she goes back and forth, too close to home in some areas and too far away in others. All the while, she wonders where she belongs. In the Thistle Meadow, she finds a small crowd. Where she might once have deemed them all unworthy of her presence, she finds herself mingling easily, if silently, with them now. Her broken horn pays tribute to all that she once was and all that she has lost, and she steps almost daintily around small groups of equines, unicorns, and pegasi alike. There is something in the meadow that is supremely peaceful, and she sighs softly, content for the first time in weeks. The sight before her is one of beauty; a tall tree, wrapped in silver and gold and positively glowing with good cheer stands amidst the gathered. A star shines brightly from its tip, and the Empress sighs again as the spirit woven into her banner dances happily. She can almost imagine that it jingles as it waves brightly in the wind, tied to her but still wanting to greet what is surely its deity. She is alone in the crowd, but somehow she has made peace with the loneliness; after a time watching the festivities, she turns to leave, loathing to interrupt the gathering and its merriment. @[tag] "Talk talk talk." in darkness is where it thrives
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
