Sikeax

A few words short of bad directions, and lacking a sense of time and distance, what was originally meant to be a stroll out to the Wilds had left her in the warm illumination of the Heart. Dawn had passed with a steady grace, the light still weak and the heat low. What was coming from the pit came in rolling waves that varied in their warmth. Each time, her nerves laid upon her skin sparked awake and welcomed the sensation, all the while her eyes watered from staring within the depths as if it was going to offer her some sort of explanation as of why she found herself staring within the hole.
It was a hole filled with an endless, burning fire that held a passion of no understood power, and that was all it would ever. Why should she even take the time to stare if that was exactly what it was?
She shook her head, fluttering her lashes multiple times before finally having her pale blue eyes be placed beneath her lids. They soon reopened, and she found what would take her time for however long she could offer it.
The ground opened up past the hole - oh, how the idea of being near that hole for such an extended period of time made her wonder if becoming one with the flames might be the purpose of her staring, - leading into the dark arms of the underground and to a place she knew she had yet to come to know. A faint memory, lost and lacking a grip where it could put some use, floats about her mind in the same lazy fashion of a goldfish that has lived in the walls of the same bowl for all of it's life.
The air within sweeps out fast and settles just as fast as it comes. Blinking a few times to adjust to the light, the sight she lets in is one that is somewhat pleasing, but she cannot find herself sure as if this is what she had expected. Different rooms, different caverns, different pathways dot the walls. They beckon with silent voices for her to stroll down their throats and a place to get lost within, and then never come out. The mental image of her bones, bleached and laid on the stone floor, makes her stomach recoil and slip deep in the cavity of her body. It never clawed itself back up when she found the faint glow rising out of one tunnel, and in her curiosity, having slipped through the opening room, went down it without even stopping to think as of what might be causing such a glow.
What the room is like is something unique, illuminated by almost every living thing within it. Everything glowed, even down to the flowers on the vines that swung for the ceiling. She caught admiring them maybe a little bit too much, tempted to put her teeth on them and to tear them from the vine. The after effects, ones she had no idea what would be, was what left her from doing it. There was always the recent memory of having swallowed a herb she can now remember full well, having settled the wrong way for her brain, leaving to wander about in a confused state for some time. Anything she had done in that time was up for questioning.
Temptation finally got the best of her, and when her lips had a single, glowing, sparkling flower sliding between them, she got the first real taste of what it had to be like if she stuck them. The taste itself was bitter for her senses. Her recoil was fast, preparing to spit out the flower when instead it found her throat, making it's way down to stomach. A snort burst from her, shaking her head in displeasure along the way.
Swung back and forth in her display of disgust, her horn hit even more of the vines, swinging the sparkling flowers and letting their unnatural light be casted down upon her. Hooves pushed down against the soft feeling of grass, one that left her confused though not bothered completely, her head was sharp to be pulled back and the sound of snapping vines touched the ears mounted to her head to add insult. They fell to the floor in a disorganized way, crumpled about and starting the long process of death. She, pleased that she had gotten free of them, smiled in a relieving way, one that could be smug if it wasn't for the fact that she would of ripped her own leg off if she was to take to such styles.

@[Ranjiri]

In winter, some voices are like coats - Mosteghanemi