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03-17-2015, 11:56 PM
et la vie amait la mort
We're not in home anymore.
She has repeated these words in her mind a thousand times over, rolling the words over and over again into endless reptition that luckily, hasn't driven her to the brink of insanity yet. This was nothing like where she hailed from. No one understood her French no matter how hard she tried, and while she did hold some sort of grasp on the language(enough for her to make it), her struggling became an issue. Embedding herself into the culture was difficult.
While she had been hopeful for some slice of home in 'Helovia,' it simply wasn't there.
Lying about the World's Edge brought her nothing of aid. The trees weren't anything of her own, and soon enough, the Vicomtesse left in boredom.
Dawn heat was low, thin mists dragging their weight about the floor of the forest. Trees gathered her up within their grasp, branches and bodies locking her into the forest as indigo skies broke the night up. Her body passes their forms as if they were nothing, turning her small head around multiple times to check if any damages had been done upon her or the object that passed through.
At most, there was only the faint leftovers of her tail, fading into the thin mist as if they were destined to become one. What remained of her legs, cut off and missing at the knees, bleed into the mists slowly.
Time slowed itself while she held her loose form together. Full day would offer the better experience of getting the feel of the new world, but the waiting was murder. Her body found her born form and gave way, what remained of her ghostly state breaking apart and fading.
The ground offered little comfort when she pressed herself into, releasing a heavy sigh once she was completely down. Twigs and other types of foliage stabbed into her pale coat, pressing deeper into her body as if to wonder why it could puncture and pass through her previous state and not this one. Irration set in. Her jaws turned and moved to snap at what bothered, snorting with nostrils flared in obvious annoyance. The lack of friends had made asking for grooming uncomfortable. Yes, it was meant for the strengthening of bonds, but the world was too foreign for her. She couldn't find the right words to bring the question out.
In the process of self grooming(if that's what you wished to call it), the small mare rested her eyes on the orb she'd tied within her tail. Movements locked her onto it, distorting her features while she watched in absolute confusion.
A crack broke through it, and in fear that words couldn't be described in, she expected the death of whatever it would of been. Panic surged her but worry bolts her to ground. Internal guilt beats the life out of her as it cracks more, jagged lines tattooing themselves along the outer shell. Heart break follows the same path of the lines.
Finally, a large portion falls away, assuring her that what that was inside was now dead and gone. Instead, life prevails, Poking through the pieces comes a child, white as snow and begging for food and love. Violet eyes flutter like the wings of hummingbird behind dumbfoundedness. Animals born from eggs? This place only gets stranger.
The child begs louder, whimpering and whining as hunger fills it's stomach. Children were not her forte, and as he cries endlessly, she throws her head about their resting spot in search of meals.
Would kits even eat mice at this age? A senseless question as he probably wanted milk from a mother that didn't exist, unless she acted as his mother, and even then, there was no nurishment from her body for him.
Desperately trying to soothe him, a velvetine muzzle is pressed into his soft baby coat, nickering warmly as if it would be his lullaby.
OOC: Open to anyone!
