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02-24-2015, 12:46 PM
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Isopia The devil is not as black as he is painted. The girl looks down. Her golden eyes watch as roots creep higher and higher up her painted legs, pulling her back into the Earth, her true creator. Her hooves had almost entirely disappeared now, appearing more like two outcroppings of some twisted and gnarled root than hardened keratin. With a distant interest the girl watched this happening, as if she was somehow apart from her own flesh, watching the way her body became wooden with all the care and scrutiny of a scientist. "We are all created of Earth." She advised, her voice pragmatic and certain. "Some of us are merely closer to it than others." Ambiguous, vague, or prophetic? Her voice did not indicate any sort of sarcasm or condescending tone, but the way her golden gaze moved from her own legs to find Volterra's suggested that the cryptic sentence she just spoke was somehow common knowledge. As if she hadn't said (or done) anything important or interesting. The girl blinked her large golden eyes. Another one indoctrinated by the institutions of his parents.. she thought without amusement or judgement. She supposed it made sense, that the very young and impressionable would so easily absorb all that they learn from their creators as gospel. And yet ... yet did no one think of their wellbeing? It was no fault of the young that their minds sapped up all information around them, taking it as certain. And so the responsibility must then fall to those around them - to provide environments that only fostered truths. To not impress upon children the beliefs of the parents, at least not until their minds were large and open enough to make informed decisions on their own. The filly remained silent, allowing her mind to move through these thoughts as her body become even more distinctly earthen. Her magic had moved up all of her legs now, making her appear like some half-carved wood statue. Even her tail, immobile, appeared to be carved out of wood. "I asked her not to." She answered simply. "And my..." She wanted to say male half of my creation, but recalled the way Kahlua had looked at her when last she did so. Although she abhorred calling them mother and father it seemed when she was around others she would have to do so. "-Father was not present." Perhaps it was the case that Father's ought to be at the birth of their children. The girl didn't know, or particularly care. She and Kahlua had done just fine hadn't they? Nevertheless, the girl didn't feel slighted or upset at the lack of attention from her creator. After all, he was always with her. She smiled as her chest hardened into wood, her wings appearing more like branches than anything else. "What did your parents name you ?" |
