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.

Men.

They’re all the same, from my experience. They see a nice looking woman and suddenly stars fill their eyes, a fire eats at their loins. I suppose it is the nature of all beings; we are alive. Our only purpose is to pass on that life to others, to teach what we have learned and continue the cycle.

I only wish he did not look at me so.

At least he is winged, and for this I will not rebuke his gaze or the way his eyes linger on my fine, Elysian lines; I let slaves do worse to me. This man is a free one, and he has never known chains. There is something bold about him, as if he is a streak of yellow and umber in a world of grey, and he knows it. If I wasn’t so corrupted as I am now, I might enjoy the way he seems to tease with his very presence, for he reminds me of the father of my first son in certain regards.

Instead, I remember only the bloody remains of the child he had given me.

A boy child, most distasteful to the women of the crown, and I had been young and inexperienced, unable to control the lust for its blood as soon as I realized it was imperfect and the venom sunk its fangs deep into my heart. I had lied to my maidens, and told them that it had been born dead, that the terror of knowing I had harbored decay within my womb had driven me into a frenzied panic.

Only half of it was true.

His chuckle draws me to the realization that we have been staring at each other for quite some time now.

I do not laugh, I don’t even grin; my memories have frozen my face in this mask of vague curiosity so he cannot see my soul shredding itself through the inward mirrors of my eyes.

Through some divine given strength of will, I manage not to roll my eyes at him in exasperated playfulness as he lays on a heavily lacquered line (perhaps my eye twitches, or my lip staggers from it’s perfectly straight alignment); I can smell the pheromones from here, practically see it rippling out from his body as he stands there smiling like the charming devil he is. I find that I am now struggling not to cordially return his smile, for it is so warm and inviting, the tender note of the harp swallowing the dismal bonging of the bell, and while he is irritating, it is not entirely unpleasant.

And then he bows, and I am helpless to its promise of a moment of serenity, a place where I may smile and laugh freely among others again, a three year old girl untouched by the evils of my foremothers. It is not true, even I know this, the one who dreams it, but it is such a sincere gesture that I have not seen in my time here.

I return his bow, lion’s tail curling up about my side and the peaks of my wings lifting while the tips remained low, the right hoof extended before me as the left curls up towards my lowered lips. Quilyan. I am still smiling despite the snarling of my veins when I return to a standing position and am asked for my own name. "Cealestis," I say, accent heavy, for I am sure he is also not of this land and I long to feel kinship again, even if it is with a man.

Helovians, thus far, have not had manners like this one, no matter how crude his initial lines might have been.

"The room itself is beautiful enough to prove such things are true."

I look upwards at the glowing strands, smile still soft and subtle on my lips as I let my broad eyes slip back down towards his face, slowly and with heavy lids. I will play his game, for a little while. Until I cannot bare the agony of my mind anymore, I will try to appease Quilyan of Unknown. "I only wish it was a sky above us, not stone. Small quarters make one such as myself quite restless."

Nonsense, really; I should be used to it. The castle had stone ceilings.

And broad, open doorways into Heaven.

My name is always strange on the lips of others, but this one meets the syllables with a boldness that I have found uncommon outside of the stiff barriers of my home. It is not perfect, but it will do; it rolls and ripples from his lips with some of the same fluidity with which I myself or my siblings might say it.

I smile, softly, in praise. I am not the sort to overwhelm others with presents for small signs of intelligence.

I expect that of us all.

He thankfully removes his eyes from me for a moment, so I may swallow my breath slowly and deeply in the absence of his pressure. It is not that I entirely mind; a part of me still longs for romance and sweet princes, palaces garbed in crystal garland and filled with the sound of prancing hooves, but I am truly too old for such fur lined dreams. I cannot love him; this is truly just a game of how long I might appease him in his game of batting lashes and sumptuously curved bodies.

As soon as our gazes touch again, however, a small and furry storm bursts from his neck and assaults his ears, her shrill screams echoing about the room and forcing Quilyan’s ears down and his head to savagely shaking. From the appearance, this is his bonded – but as she sails rather gracelessly through the air still shrieking and barely manages to grasp his mane before tumbling to the floor, I am forced to raise a brow.

However annoying her assault might have been for him, it served a purpose, and to toss her so rudely from his crown is an insult to their connection. Is she not his sister, of deeper blood? Is she not supposed to rely upon him for his strength?

As the little fluffy thing scampers back into her nest on his wither, I also cannot help but notice that she looks hatefully not at the man who almost concussed her on the stone floor, but me.

Oh, dear Quilyan, how short a life you would have lived in Elysia – or long, depending on how you choose to play the game.

I have yet to see if your companion is a wrench tossed into your well oiled gears. If not for her, would you be elusive and clever enough to travel between women, never long enough and with such tact as to grow ill favored or too desirous?

And who is your woman, the keeper of your leads, the one for whom your soul splinter has voiced her obvious concern for?

Have you soiled her body with sons?

I listen to him apologize for the miniature monkey, nodding in acceptance of his lie. She is not restless; it is the thing dangling between his legs which causes the disturbance around here. Perhaps they too, are restless within their souls, but the only reason his pet has assaulted him is because she can know what he thinks.

It is a fun game, truly; I will pretend to be the pawn a little longer.

My laughter is chiming and sweet, albeit false, in response to his second and just as lacquered line on beauty, allowing a delicately dished face to tilt humorously to twinkle broad, blue eyes in the direction of both man and squalling creature (the monkey was not amused by the continuance of our game, it would seem). "Why do I feel as if you would find me so sweet as to make the belly ache even whilst covered in excrement?" I coyly ask, glancing most playfully to the small animal nestled among the umber strands of his mane.

I hope she will soon understand that I am not a foolish filly, so easily charmed by her sweet companion. I am merely a lonely woman, cast adrift, and the cadence of the game allows me to slip away from the dark bowels of my soul for a little while.

"Either way, I long for the Heavens the moment my hooves touch the earth," my smile is woeful and teasing, so piteous on such a charming face as my own; it will hide well enough the truth of who I am, for the moment is tender and covered in the silver allure of desire, even if it is false for us both, "to not see her above us seems an unnecessary punishment, even for those as wicked as ourselves."

A voice breaks my attentions on the stag, so rudely slicing into the midst of our words and with no pertinence to the glory of the sky. I twist my head about to glare at her wingless frame some distance from us, aggravation roiling through my heart and spreading all to quickly through my blood. But as I lay eyes upon that which she calls “beautiful” and discover a writing I have never seen before, curiosity helps me quell the outrage of her interruption to my first moment of quiet serenity since arriving to this damnable kingdom.

"Words, of some sort," I reply sharply, the gentleness of my voice in the conversation prior lost to the edge of the venom, though they are still not unkindly. Perhaps they sound learned, or lofty and proud; I do not know, nor do I care.

She is only a unicorn.

"I have seen nothing of them in the libraries of my homeland," I conclude after breaking from Quilyan’s side to better look upon the symbols etched into the stone, finding their shape simplistic and similar to the most ancient forms of writing that we held in the libraries of Elysia. Looking to the painted stag to see if he has followed, I test my theories that he, too, is of a place similar to which I was grown.

"Hieroglyphs – picture based story telling, wouldn’t you say, Sir Quilyan?"

I lend Quilyan an ear as he responds to my inquiry with more enthusiasm than even that which he had teased up his lines in our prior conversation. It settles in my mind well that he has had access to libraries and written word, an economic system far superior to this fledging land we have somehow both stumbled upon; a connection, that burns and sparks, and draws me to the quick conclusion that I will be seeing more of the painted stallion, if for no other reason than to quell my suspicions that he once wore a crown or stood in the proximity of gold laced throne.

Even if he is only a scholar of his former kingdom, he is more learned and valuable than the other peasants I have come across. Surely, they can craft objects and have a miniscule version of a trade system among one another, but it is not Elysia. They have not a single field that is plowed by the men or a garden in which herbs are kept by wise women who heal with their aura and their plants.

They don’t even remember their own language, if this one is from this land. I look to the unicorn with raised interest in her heritage; it may be she is from an even less civilized homeland than this hellish place.

Let us hope she learns quickly. I have little tolerance for idiotic females, even less so than foolish men; if she proves to be a moron, I will cauterize her reproductive organs myself to ensure she doesn’t dishonor our gender any further than she already has wearing that ridiculous horn.

He mentions other runes etched into the stone in the caverns outside this one, and I find myself irate with my own failures to notice such things; I have been to lost in my own thoughts, dwelling upon the foul turns of fortune that have assaulted me since abandoning my mother and future kingdom.

All I had to do was kill Hespera, after all – and she was likely to explode all on her own.

I had been patiently waiting, until the night they were to tattoo Antiope; we had all agreed it would not come to pass, and fled our mother’s reach, our wings meant to carry us to the ends of the earth. But then the storm had come… and all of our plans were lost on the static infused wind.

I will not fret. I have faith in what the sky brings to me. I only wish that the time between our hastened loneliness and the reunion I have foreseen will be short; while I do not love all my sisters, I do care for them. And it is possible, as all things are possible, that we might be cured of our afflictions by some being in this land.

I have been partially listening to the exchange of words for some time now, catching the unicorn’s last inquiry and her name and filing away the latter for use on a different day. As for her question – I have an answer for her, I just do not know how to present the information. To share a cryptic half reply that I have sisters in this land whom can also read and write, but that I know not where they are or when in the time stream they will arrive; their souls are here. It is all I can tell her.

I doubt she is clever enough to understand the intricate weave of time and the path inscribed for us at birth, the magic that I was born with that has allowed me to see the lines of its ever bending path.

And so I remain silent, for now; they are of no use to me yet, my beautiful and graceful kin. Our paths have not met.

"We should not need more minds," I state, deciding instead upon a path of logic and a foundation of faith in Quilyan’s intelligence and station, ”the language is simple and quite literal at points." Finding one such emblem against the stone and directing a wing tip at it and the mentioned neighbors in turn, I finish with an example. "We begin with nouns - things, which will generally be exactly what the word is. This one is a sun. It is near fire. We can thus assume it pertains to the Sun God and his magic, be it a tale of himself, a follower who received his blessing, or a simple description of his power. Once we detail out more of the nouns and compare the myriad descriptors and symbols denoting an action to other samples from different regions in the caves we can figure out what story it is telling."

It sounds much more complicated than it is out on the open air, I decide while speaking.

Perhaps we will need others; I will not admit such things. I am wise enough to complete the task on my own, surely, and with the assistance of Quilyan and even unlearned Tangere we should make good progress so long as we are tenacious in our studies.

I glance back to Quilyan, a smile on my lips in delight of stretching my mental muscles so with a worthy study companion. "The sun was also in the creation room?" I ask, relatively sure that the answer was yes.