It is droll in the dark, and my Mother is hidden by a ceiling that stretches its head high above me and is colder than even a winter night in its lack of luster. This main cavern is given life only by the masses that teem within its belly, the hundreds of horses come to hide from the wickedness that wanders above.

I do not like this closeness, this sense of unity among this rabble. I find that I regret my decision to come to this land, in this era. Why did my dreams not warn me of this?

Perhaps I will die in Helovia. That is the meaning of the meadow and my sisters, a vision pried from the cusp of the heavens where souls stand watch over those they once knew. It was not in life that I met my dearest siblings once more, but in the green fields of death; it is at least pleasant to think that I will not burn and writhe in a dark place, as I have feared. We will walk beneath the sky and ride the sweet winds, and we will be happy and free from our chains.

I find myself wandering. I have remained among the main cavern for many days since the gathering of Circuta’s minions, and while I might search them out for companionship, I refrain. I do not truly want them. I simply need their queen’s talents, if I am not to die in this ethereal, underground collection of tombs.

The caverns seem endless in their branching, but I have selected this one. My cloven hooves click and clack along the stubborn stone beneath me, wings pressed against my sides and the right aching from disuse. It is souring, to think I’ve spend over a year regaining my ability to fly only to lose the hard won muscles to this stone safe haven, but I will survive. If nothing else, I can always manage this.

The narrow path broadens into another room, but this one draws my eyes to its resplendence with a subtle smile that curves my lips. Slowly I step further in, admiring the gleaming vines that reach towards my ears and spine, tickle the tips of my wings that have raised from my spine in my enthusiasm for the star-like gleam of this place. Taking to the perimeter of the room, I begin to walk its circumference, admiring each facet of the glowing room with the first trickling of happiness I’d felt since hearing a Phantom Seeker might find my sisters.

Ahead of me appears a stallion of winged lineage, halting my forward progression to take status of him; he is attractive, for a man, painted and carrying a soft grace that reminds me of the high ranking male slaves of Elysia. I am unsure as to what he looks for so restlessly, looking about as if something incredible is to happen at any moment, but I suppose he feels the same as I do.

He yearns for the silken embrace of the wind against his body. I can understand his pain.

"’Lo," I call out to him despite the cry of my veins to turn away and leave him to his loneliness, the strange lilt to my tones evident even in the single syllable; I am not of this land, perhaps I never will manage to even fit in at all. It is my curse, to feel this way when I look upon all men, no matter how lonely I myself may be, and it is my fate to suffer so for what I have done in my past.

At least I am not alone. My sisters know the ache that grows within my breast as I struggle against the rising urge to assault him should he turn to return my greeting.