Florabella

Say, how much was I feeling my age?

I blamed the vague familiarity this cave brought me, but the cranium which held what I saw with my own eyes were fuzzy, foreign. No, the land itself wasn't foreign entirely, but I couldn't discover why some faces were harder to recall than others. Regardless of my efforts it remained unknown and my agitated shot up to unhealthy levels. I loathed what I couldn't figure out - it only added to the stupidity of my intelligent - though I still had a mystery of my own. No doubt my age was the reason I had developed memory loss and I left it that way to cure some of my conflicted musings.

The place itself took some time to adjust to. Alas, I hadn't the night vision should I have been another creature entirely. If that were the case, I'd be able to see through the tunnels and the cave itself, but it wasn't. Instinct never fled my body and every muscle bulged and tensed in spite of my depleting stamina after a walk from a meadow, which stirred unwelcoming sounds. Laughing. Crying. Emotions which lingered temporarily from some kind of reminder. Though, what would serve to develop some new memories and understand this foreign land better? I mused, and mused. No strategic plan. Nothing. Someone or something could invoke, and I could easily have shed my acquaintances with them. I was getting rather concerned for my well-being.

My ears flipped forwards and strained to hear voices which ricocheted off the walls. Echoes, and words yet none I could pinpoint in terms of real words. I was still in a safe distance, but how desperate did I become to absolve to talking to another equine? It should have been best left where I stayed alone! I wouldn't be hurt, nor would I criticize another so impulsively. Conflicting thoughts stirred and my skull ached from the thinking I had done. I decided to stop acting like a coward and approach what would appear to be creatures of a fantastical myth. My memory aided me in that the land I had yet to adjust to, they were as real as I was. My form was solid, and I felt my heart beating within my breast. I was alive, but I felt dead if such a feeling was even possible. I felt like a ghost looming through what could be divine, but also another hell. Yet they stood there chatting, and not paying a mind to me. Cowards did not stare blankly when they craved attention yet I craved a sadistic desire to see someone writhe in pain, too. Words could hurt. I do not remember, but I knew it sliced through the depths of my soul.

I took a deep breath so I could steady myself. "Hello, boys." My voice spoke with a fabricated tone of bliss. Low-pitched as always. And easy to see through the deceit and into the core where my fear lied.

I questioned why I always try to talk to others. The truth was: I was getting old and lonely. Desperate enough to talk to aging colts, it seemed.

@[Mesec] , @[Sacre]

do they see my many personalities