It is rare that I feel true kinship with anyone - I have kept myself sealed off from the world, a product of my father's mocking hatred, a result of constantly feeling as though I was too weak, or too stupid, or too something. Why else would he push my so hard, punish my so harshly, hate me so strongly? And even if I did allow myself to love, to care - what good would it do? My mission in this life is clear: I must earn my half-sister's trust and affection, as far as Seele can feel those things. Emotion will only get in the way. But despite the walls I have built around my soul, I find myself reaching for the painted stallion in heartfelt sympathy. The loss of one's parents is not an easy thing, nor one that is easily forgotten. "Meine sorgen für ihr," I murmur sadly, hoping that he will allow my muzzle to brush his.

I wonder what he was like as a child, before the pain and suffering of life marred his innocence. I can almost imagine a spindly-legged colt, eager and excited about the world. I wonder how old he was when he learned that there are no fairy tales, no knights in shining armor; that the universe was a vicious, uncaring place with no ability or desire to distinguish between those who deserved punishment and those who did not. I wonder if the shattering of his illusions left him better or worse than he was before, if he was angry or accepting of the injustice of it all, if he acted out of necessity or some desire to make things better. I wonder if he really believes he can.

I hope that he does. I hope that his golden voice is an indication of character, a glimpse into the soul of one who is truly still pure, who has not allowed the world to taint him and turn him into a sour old man who trusts no one and loves nothing. I hope that his kindness is no mere facade, that perhaps he is exactly what he appears to be. I hope, and I hate myself for it, for I do not look forward to being disappointed. His muzzle brushes mine gently, and I let out a soft sigh. It is a simple gesture, but one that my mind reacts to with a wild rush of warmth and comfort and joy.

"No," I respond, shaken from my musings by that lovely golden tone spinning like thread before my eyes. "I was born somewhere quite far away. I traveled here after my parents died, looking for my sis-" I stop suddenly, glancing upward as though to see if he caught my mistake. How idiotic of me to let my guard down, to allow him to permeate so deeply into my soul, into my wants and desires and dreams. I look away, gathering my flustered thoughts in what I hope is a collected manner. "Looking for something," I amend. And then, softly: "But I don't think I'm going to find it." A pause, a shake of the head, a coy smile and a wink - "Even so, I do believe I will stay, especially if such handsome stallions keep cropping up."

"Talk talk talk."
[Meine sorgen für ihr. :: My sorrows for yours.]

@[Midas]