Själ

The girl paused at the Threshold, wondering if she was doing the right thing. What if Mother was on her way home, only to find her daughter gone without a trace? But it had been several months, and still she had not come; and so Själ had set out for that mystical land of Helovia, the empire that her mother might have claimed oh-so-long ago if not for a broken horn and an impoverished soul. The filly had garnered only bits and pieces of her mother's story, for her youth had been filled with the ravings of a madwoman. She had become adept at deciphering the basic meanings, but she could not pretend to know or understand her mother's history.

Time and again, the DarkEmpress (Empress of what, exactly? She had always wanted to ask) had held her close and murmured in her ear: never forget what you are. But what was she? A princess worthy of the land on whose doorstep she now stood? To hear her mother tell it, she was meant for glory and greatness, vengeance on those who had cast the great Queen out. She still didn't know why, but Mother had said so, and despite the filly's reservations regarding the stability of her mother's mental state, she could not help but believe her. After all, a childhood of being told of one's perfection does little to prepare a child to face the real world; and a promised inheritance, however falsely given, serves as a real enough motivation to make one's presence known.

And so, when her mother had not yet returned and the snows had cleared from the ground, the filly had come to find her. She was sure that the Empress could not have fared well on her own (such was the nature of their relationship - the daughter became the caretaker at quite a young age). Besides, she had no father figure to rely on, and it was getting quite lonely, hiding out in the mountains by herself. She had only ever known her mother's company, but at least it was company, and as lonely days turned into lonely weeks, she decided that some kind of interaction was no less than what she deserved.

The heat of Tallsun had come before the young girl found her way to her mother's fabled lost empire, but finally, she had arrived. She stood proudly on the brink of her mother's legacy, and though she had not yet even grown into her legs, she felt as though she were the returning outcast princess, sure to be welcomed as her station demanded. A gentle breeze stirred her forelock, framing her distinctive amber eyes with dark black. Two horns protruded, one atop the other, from her forehead, glittering in the midday sun. They were glass and, in her opinion, much prettier than her mother's. She supposed she had her absentee father to thank for that, if nothing else.

Maybe she would find him, too, after she found her mother.

Maybe she would find answers.

"Talk."

Själ

"Who are you?"

The question was posed by a mare only a few years older than she: a varnished roan set on a chestnut pelt, accented by blue eyes and a frosted horn. They were of a similar build, or would be once the girl matured. She took this in with amber eyes that looked the mare up and down with a tinge of disdain, a look taught by her mother and mastered quickly. In truth, she wasn't sure how else to react to this new unicorn - having never been taught proper manners, she could recognize rudeness neither in herself nor anyone else, nor would she particularly care even if she could. The mare was lovely in an icy sort of way, returning her inspection with a similar look. It almost seemed that the sight of the filly was distasteful to her, as though Själ had interrupted some important errand or thought; but such contempt was lost on the snow-touched filly.

Who am I? she thought, a tinge of outrage beginning to grow in her breast. Shouldn't this peasant know her rightful princess when she saw her? Should she not bow down to the royalty which so kindly presented itself to her? Shouldn't she be leaping for joy that she, of all the inhabitants of Helovia, had been blessed by Själ's presence? But in the back of her mind, the lingering thought presented itself: just who was her mother, and who did that make the self-proclaimed Queen's daughter? Was the Empress's legacy all that she had promised, or had Själ's journey to Helovia only set her up for disappointment?

"Själ," she asserted regally, as though the mare should have already known as much. She refused to believe that her mother had been so ma as to lie about her heritage. There must have been some mistake - this mare would obviously recognize her in just a moment and apologize profusely for the misunderstanding. "Who are you?" she countered, a challenge in her eyes.

"Talk."

Själ

That life is not always fair is a lesson that the filly had yet to learn. It had been a long time coming, and it was about to ruin her perfect, pretty little vision of what life should be like. In her mind, it was she and her mother against the world. They had no need for a father and no need for siblings. Her concept of a paternal figure was hazy, to say the least, fueled only by her mother's refusal to share the identity of her father with her; and she had no true understanding of siblings, though she knew that she had a sister somewhere in the boundaries of Helovia. Her mother had, at least, shared that much with her.

But it had been only a bit here and there: "your sister's name is Snö," or "find her if you need help and I am not around," or "I never did right by your sister," and "I'll do better with you." It had never really meant anything to the filly, who merely tucked the words away with the rest of her mother's ramblings. How much use would a sister be? What was a sister, anyway? She didn't understand, didn't know what it meant to be kin to someone other than her mother. She had never needed anyone else. She really didn't think she needed anyone now.

Now, all of a sudden, she understood.

She, who had never had to share anything before, suddenly realized that she had to share her mother. Her mother, the only thing that she really cared for in the world. The Empress was hers, the legacy was hers, the inheritance was hers. Who did this mare - this, this Snö - think she was to claim her mother and -

Snö.

Snö.

Oh.

"But you don't even look like her!" she spluttered suddenly, infuriated by this new turn of events that forced her to give up her perfect little mommy-and-me duo.

"Talk."

Själ

”That does not matter,” Snö replied cooly. Själ wondered briefly if she had had to practice her indifference or if it had come naturally to her. ”I don’t have to look like my mother to know that I am her daughter.”

”The DarkEmpress is my mother,” the filly retorted. ”… too.” It was an afterthought, but it was there: an apology of sorts, a peace offering. Of course, it could just as easily have been a deliberate snub. If the girl had been asked, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you precisely what she had meant. Perhaps she had wanted both – to make peace with the sister that her mother had told her to seek out and to prove to the mare that was so distant to her that she didn’t need help. If Snö didn’t want to be near her, then fine - Själ would be perfectly wonderful on her own.

But she was lonely, and this was her sister – and even if she didn’t know exactly how she felt about that yet, it was some kind of concrete tie to the mare. Why was Snö so eager to send her on her way? Did she hate her for stealing their mother away? Or was she just selfish, wanting to take Mother’s legacy for herself? The young filly had given up on her own selfish feelings (that Mother was hers, and only hers) within moments of realizing that she had not choice in the matter of sharing with Snö; why would the older mare, more experienced in the world, more seasoned with emotions, not be able to do the same?

”Mother is here,” she answered finally. ”And you’re here, and Mother told me to find you if I couldn’t find her.” She hated the hint of hesitation in her voice, as though waiting for another rebuttal, a refusal, a brutal rejection. But it was there, almost as though to remind the older mare that Själ was only a girl, not even a yearling yet. She was not yet as good at masking her emotions as the older girl. Paired with the confusion in her distinctive amber eyes, she suddenly looked her age despite the way her neck arched in a miniscule, unconscious mimicry of her sister.

"Talk."

Själ

Over the time that Själ had spent with her mother, she had spent many a lingering afternoon comparing features. She was the same color as her mother, a rare, true black that almost shone blue, and they shared the same ivory socks, the same thick mane and tail. Her eyes, like her mother's, shone a brilliant shade of amber, almost enough to glow in the dark. But there were differences, too - she had a lovelier face than Psyche, even as a foal: it was straighter, slightly dished, a more refined version of the older mare. Her face was completely white, where the Empress wore only a blaze, and Själ was doubly crowned with glass where only a single, broken knob stood from her mother's forehead. As she grew, she would begin to notice differences in their build. In this way, at least, Själ would one day favor Snö over their mother.

So it was no surprise to the girl with her sister chose her eyes to compare to the DarkEmpress. She nodded slightly, affirmation as much as gratitude. Still she did not move. Snö had told her to leave, told her there was nothing for her... but how could she say that? The only family that she had was here, in Helovia. Only the gods knew where her father was, if even they were privy to that information. Where else was she to go when Mother had left her on her own to fend for herself?

"She is dead."

A sharp intake of breath surprised the filly. She didn't realize it was hers until she felt the rush of warm, damp air that tried, suddenly, to suffocate her. It was too hot, though her blood had run cold at the finality of it all, the flatness in her sister's voice as she advised the younger girl. It was too humid, too sunny, to bright and brilliant and warm for her mother, Psyche, the DarkEmpress to be cold and alone and dead. There had to be some mistake. Maybe Snö wanted Mother all to herself after all. Maybe the mare was only trying to get rid of the younger sister before their mother found her again.

But something in her eyes told Själ that her sister wasn't lying.

"But... she can't be dead. She told me I could find her here, she told me to find you, she told me you could take me to her..." Her mind was whirling, swirling in a sudden rush of emotions that the girl could not begin to comprehend. "Why?" Had those who had cast Psyche out finally found her and finished her off? Had they grown tired of her games, decided they no longer needed a Queen? Had they fallen into chaos and ruin, as they well should have for denouncing their Empress?

"I don't have anywhere to go back to," she insisted suddenly, stubbornly. She would not turn back, especially not now, not with murder on her lips and her mother the victim. "Who was it? Who killed her? We have to make them pay," she added, a hiss to rival her mother's famously poisonous vocals. "They think they can beat us? We're the blood of the DarkEmpress, and we should take our vengeance."

She shook her head, clearing any hint of tears that may have appeared, shoving her emotions to the back of her mind. Mother had taught her to stay strong, to never show weakness. She may not have been as good as Snö yet at concealing her emotions, hiding behind a mask, but she hadn't spent six months under the DarkEmpress's eye for nothing. "I'm not leaving," she informed her sister loftily. "With or without you, Helovia will bleed for this."

"Talk."

Själ

"Are you slow or something?" the filly demanded, outraged by her sister's lack of emotion. Why was it so easy for her to just accept their mother's death? Did she not intend to seek some manner of vengeance? Wasn't she even going to try? The DarkEmpress was their mother, not just some stranger in the woods. She deserved better than some cold-hearted murderer just getting away with it. It never occurred to her that her mother may have deserved such a death, having sent many others to their graves in just that way.

"She was my - our - mother!" Själ reminded the varnished mare, speaking slowly, as though to accent every word, hoping that this time, it would get through to the older girl. "How can you just leave her to rot? Aren't you angry? Do you even care?" As she grew more and more angry, a small tear escaped to trail down her dark cheek. The knowledge that her sister had made her cry - had made her show weakness - only served to infuriate her further. "Do you even miss her? Or maybe you're happy she's gone!" the filly accused with a sneer, flinging her words like knives, hoping to hit any nerve she could.

"I'm not leaving!" she shrieked. "I don't need your protection. I just thought you might help me!" She glared at Snö, angry and disappointed that this was all she had left. She'd never had a father, her mother was dead, and her sister didn't care that she existed and certainly didn't want her around. She was alone in the world and, for the first time, she began to understand what that meant. Before now, she had always expected to have Mother. She had thought that the Empress would come home, or that she would find the queen in Helovia - but that was never going to happen.

She couldn't go back. She could only go forward.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," she admitted after a moment, wilting under the weight of all of the new emotions she had experienced. "But at least I'm going to do something. Either tell me which way to go or leave me alone." I don't have anyone left except you, she wanted to add, but her pride wouldn't let her.

"Talk."

Själ

Snö's refusal to rise to the bait that the filly laid for her was infuriating. The little princess wanted to wound her, to hurt her as her sister had unwittingly done to Själ - but no matter what words she threw, no matter how angry she became, the icy mare refused to budge from the flat, disdainful airs she put on. The filly didn't understand, couldn't comprehend how she could be so callous and uncaring. Perhaps the DarkEmpress hadn't been the best mother (and how would she know, anyway, since Psyche was the only mother she had ever known?), but she had been something. She may not have been perfect, but she had been there.

What the girl did not know was that Snö had not been afforded the same luxury. That her older sister had been left largely to fend for herself was incomprehensible. All Själ understood, when the mare's anger came suddenly, was that she had found the one place that she could whittle away at to provoke a response.

"It doesn't matter!" she shouted in her turn, her out-of-control emotions acting as fuel to force her fury into burning higher and hotter. "She was still your mother. She's your blood! Doesn't that mean something?" She might as well have begged for recognition - hidden in her accusation was her true fear, that blood, and therefore she herself, would mean nothing to the only family she had left.

"She was a stranger, not a mother."

Truth be told, Själ had been more a mother than had Psyche, for she had spent a great deal more of her time caring for the mad old hag than being cared for herself, but that did not seem prudent to mention as they stood glaring at each other. Not that it would have mattered, in the end; it would seem that Snö was determined to hate her, no matter what she said or did. She looked quite comical, really: a filly (not even a year old) standing with her ears flat and her half-grown tail swishing angrily against her hocks as she squared off against a mare more than twice her size. But she would not back down, especially not now. Not after Snö had revealed her true colors.

"Fine," she echoed, sounding for all the world like her older sister and her mother all in one breath.

"Go to hell."

"I will."

And with that, she stalked past her sister and into Helovia.

"Talk."