a mist, fine and cool, breathes along the shore side - tendrils of fog, uncomfortable against her feathers, reaches and grabs and pulls, turning this place into a pretty pastel painting, its colours placing gentle kisses against her skin. the chill wraps her in a possessive embrace, and the moon bathes her in its life - already, a land that hungered, feasted, and rotted. she hums, thoughtful, as she shifts her wings into a more proper placement, nearly laughing at the sea that devoured itself. so ravenous! it whispered of magic and prosperity, turned to curses and decay, and the world pressed forward, without a care for itself. it feasted upon the sands, turning the universe sterile: but there is a certain degree of regalia and cordiality that lingers, quiescent, in her gaze as it is poised along the frostbreath. "this place is so dead," she muses softly, thoughtful. with carelessness, she flicks her gaze outwards, towards the rest of the ocean, only sparing slight sympathy. she sees herself in these waves: through her plain, splintering against her chest, she preserved, as did the salt that is current licking against her hooves as she stands, ankle-deep in its shallow depths. "a pity." but it would live on; longer after her, these scraps of shrubbery, and the irony of this tastes hot and raw against her throat. she cannot spare herself for a thing that lived without sentience; meaning came from intelligent thought, of which this place did not posses. beauty, in its coldness. artwork, in its placements. certainly, even the sky seemed to dance with added vigour as she shed her previous mortal skin and began anew (an outcast once more). but there was no life, not truly, and a certain lack of vibrancy that made her veins tingle with unease - even as the northern lights slowly expand across the sky, she can only spare the barest of smiles (a murmur, chiding and restless, "well, well"). slowly, she emerges from the icy calm that had climbed its way upwards from her feet, and, leaving the current to sleep on its own, began to search for something else (something bigger, something better, something worthwhile).
ooo // this sucks. i apologise. :| they'll get better. probably.
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15 hands :: 8 years old |
| Phantom |
09-20-2012, 10:18 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-20-2012, 10:27 PM by Cassiopeia.)
cassiopeia
it is not in the stars to hold our destiny
Two pools of vibrant azure peered out across a vast expanse of ivory, the beholder's hooves growing cold as she stepped lightly across it, her legs suspended abnormally high with each stride. "Momma, what is this?" Came a young, vernal voice, its tone alluded with a frail, yet shrill feebleness. She wasn't sure if she wanted to touch it, and her question had been accorded with a bit of caution. She disliked the way the cold radiated from it, diffusing her petite hooves with a nipping chill - she was used to warmth and the sensation of amber grains squelching beneath her.
"Snow." Averred a much more senescent voice, its tone laced with chords of affection. Of course, being as young as she was and having been born within a land perpetually hovering with warmth - an Oasis among a vast plane of aureate sand and russet stone - Azulee hadn't seen anything quite like it, and the celestial dame insisted on explaining the foreign substance to the young damsel in a way she might understand. "When the clouds get really cold, stuff drops from them - instead of rain, that stuff is something called snow."
Cassiopeia bounded to the side of the lightning-esque flicka, a gust of air billowing from her unfurled wings, causing a particularly fluffy patch of snow to become airborne. The intricate particles danced in the air around the filly like many delicate, ashen petals, a few alighting upon her hide. Azulee strained to watch as a few of them settled on her muzzle like small dabs of icing. Soon they dissipated from the warmth, absorbing into her fur as they thawed.
She wagged her tail, enthralled. "It's beautiful!" She exclaimed, flailing her lanky limbs as she leaped euphorically across the pristine alabaster that encompassed her, her peppered figure a stark contrast among the frigid powder. With fledged wings outstretched - their conformations downy and their plumes still small and expanding - she used them as leverage. Although still much less impressive than the flight appendages of those who had given her life, the belle's wings already evidenced signs of one day mimicking her grandmother's in magnitude.
Meanwhile, the Oracle gazed out across the Steppe, frost clinging upon each billowing plume of her breath. She could sense something - the presence of another; though it pervaded no immediate sense of danger. Inquisitvely, she searched for a figure among the rolling dunes of ice and snow.
Nothing - at least not yet.
The sun was sinking, permeating the atmosphere with vibrancy and opalescence. Surely Azulee would be desiring to get some rest soon, but for now she displayed no signs of fatigue - she was too consumed in frolicking amidst her new discovery. Gently, Cassiopeia nudged her lanky haunches, reigning in her attention as she began to head back toward the mainland. They had not traveled far, but surely they would not make it home by the time night fell upon the land.
As she walked, she thought she might have seen something; a silhouette amid the thin shroud of fog that had ensconced the air by the shore. Beyond the sound of the boisterous tides and the slush of snow beneath her hooves, she could discern the cadence of snow crunching; distant, yet easily heeded. She tipped her ebony-swathed muzzle ever-slightly to the darkening sky, allowing a soft whinny to vibrate her bosom.
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