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The fault lay in the assumption that evil was inherently different. Demons rested in the hearts of all, but few possessed the strength of will to capture them and hold them at bay. The violence of Gaucho a sin, tempered by the loving loyalty to his kind, the lies of Phaedra excused by her beauty, the seeping lifelessness of Deimos held fast by servitude to his herd were but a few examples of the war waging not only socially but inwardly. To say that life was good and evil was seeing black and white in a world of color. Vibrancy reveals thousands of possibilities and a million differences hindered by such a narrow scope of view. No one was special because there was no one star that shone more brightly than any other. What set an individual apart from the sea of tumultuous actions and reactions was the ability to rise above or dive below the surface of monotony, yet high above or down below, the labels disappeared. Both directions were just a way out.
The pale princess had always walked the pathway between, the grey areas that rested between two halves. Unicorn and equine. Beautiful and cunning. Leader and spy. Liar and honest. Thus, as she stood, she made no attempt to valiantly defend her herd from the terrors of a single mare. A band of unicorns needed no help dealing with a single, rotten egg, no… She stood here because within her heart was a well of vengeance, violence and rage. She stood, furious, that this nothing-mare had dared to try to steal her from her home – that she thought so highly of herself that she could not take the walk to speak her peace. No slight dealt against the Forsaken was over until it was repaid tenfold and until her opponent was beaten so far into the ground that they had to beg to stand again. Gone was the girl who shouldered the weight of the world. She had shed the pain of others, sick of drowning, and was fighting for the surface again. Those who dared touch her would receive their just reward, and perhaps, a little more.
What stood before her now was a foul-smelling, disgusting mortal. She was painfully and dismally average and yet she demanded the world with the same petulance displayed by her rude sauntering at Ophelia’s challenge. Darkness lay in wait within the hearts of all – just because she failed to clean her jaw of grime and spit did not enhance her romance with demons. The proof was before her now, standing pregnant, weak and pitiful. What power did she have against her now, hindered as she was? Was she delusional as to think she had any recourse against the spy of spies, a silver dragon and her armor? Never before had Ophelia seen arrogance and misery combine in such a mindless display of impotence.
Her words made even less sense than the picture she painted with her presence. The white mare simultaneously furrowed and raised a brow. Guarantee safety of her children? What reason did she have to guarantee safety of her children? None. The Basin could take care of itself as far as this wretch was concerned, and stealing would only earn the opposite of a clear mind. Rage would have woven a crimson sheet behind her eyes, tainting whatever she saw with wicked fury. Ophelia could not help but laugh again at the nonsensical charade this had become. She was hoping for a battle and bloodshed, but instead she bought a ticket for a comedy.
“You want to raise your children in peace… when you did not allow the same respect to the twins and their mother you and your depraved band stole?” she asked in disbelief, a twisted grin on her mousy maw. “And you want me to somehow afford you this comfort?” Ophelia snorted in amusement, shaking her head. “What reason do I have to help you, thief?” she asked. “And don’t try to use my half-brother as an excuse. You can miss him all you want to, but the fact that he is their father means nothing to me.” The Forsaken had her family. She had her twin. She needed nothing else in this life (so she thought). This mare’s mind was a book of contradictions, but at the end of the story, the denouement could be summed in a single word: selfishness.
“What makes you so special?” she spat. “Guarantee the safety of your own children. Leave now. Go live with your king in the fantasy if your own delusions. Or, stay and fight.” Ophelia lowered the point of her horn and charged forward, gathering strength in her well-muscled hips. Confutatis could run or die.
[[[(1/3) (791 words)
Ophelia charges at Confutatis with her horn pointed]]]
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge]
