Phaedra

All that glimmers

Phaedra didn't care. She didn't care that they called her names behind her back - accused her of sleeping her way to the top, and being unfit to lead. Regardless of the truth, their words simply slipped off of the golden girls' delicate shoulders. They could talk all they wanted, but it didn't change the facts. It didn't change that she had been the best spy that the Grey had had. The she had been sent into battle rather than that she-dog Archibald liked to keep around for when he got tired of beating up stallions in the battlefield, and wanted to beat on something else. She had taken Ophelia's place when the Foresaken abandoned them, and she rose to stand beside Apollo as Queen of the Foothills. What did it matter what happened next - that she had done a poor job of ruling, and had simply left them with things got too tough. She had made it there. So let them tell their jokes, to scoff behind her back. Had they bested the Moon Bitch's challenges, and received magic? Had they been gifted with the sparkle of the stars, from a creature made of light? No. So fuck you twice, sugar.

Even so, Phaedra really had no desire to go back. Was Lakota still in charge with Apollo? Was Ophelia still aimlessly wandering? Had Locket ever finished his quest? Maybe she would find out...or maybe she would find Soh instead. Well. But if she did that, surely her friend would ask about her children, and that was one past mistake she was not ready to deal with.

Walking softly amongst the flowers, the Opulent folded her oddly-patterns wings to her lithe flanks. Her mane and tail - a symphony of starlight and pale curls - bounced delicately against her sooty hide. Her sparkling sea-green gaze froze, as did her lean form, as she spied Rasta collapse into the grasses.

Dead? Inquired Stella from the air, her bright orangey-yellow face twisting in concern. Phaedra shrugged her spotted shoulders, as she turned to leave. "Not our problem Stella." She replied, her sing-song voice cold and distant, as she cast a sidelong glance towards the mare. From the air, Stella trilled unhappily, glaring down at her bonded. Phae...Maybe she needs help. Rolling her eyes, the Opulent looked back towards where Rasta still lay. Phaedra disliked mares - except for a handful. Well, maybe just two. She had liked Ophelia, until the Foresaken had abandoned them...though after having ruled in her place, Phaedra understood why she had done it.

Sighing, Phaedra turned on her pale hooves with a grimace. Fine, she mentally grumbled. Trilling happily now, Stella glided swiftly towards Rasta, as Phaedra followed on foot.

Her sea-green gaze washed over the emaciated form of the mare who carried a similar colour-palette and build to herself. She noted the sunken ribs and the teartracks down her cheek. Grimacing, she was reminded of the quest that the Moon-Bitch had sent her on, so many seasons ago. Her beauty was forcefully removed, and the golden girl was forced to carry and deliver her twins while being imprisoned in the body of an emaciated hag. It had been the worst season she could recall, and the state of Rasta was an all too sudden reminder of what that experience had been like.

"Did the Moon Goddess do that to you, sugar?" She cooed softly, warily stepping around Rasta lest this be some sort of trap. Stella landed on Phaedra's wither, careful not to dig her talons into her bondeds soft flesh. The bird cooed as well, expressing her own concern.