.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
03-31-2015, 11:26 PM
|
Ophelia the Forsaken
Friends… Was that possible when her heart was full of mistrust and memories of his transgressions hovered at his side? Ghosts of memories never allowed her to see the present alone, and she frowned. A Mauja from memory stood shoulder to shoulder with him, cruel blue eyes looking down upon her fragile, dying form, complaining about the cumbersome nature of her dead body. To his right was the Mauja who confessed nothing but emotion and had to have shared those same words with many other mares. She was not special. How many had he captured with his blue eyes and soft words? Would he take a child from her too? Like the God of Time? Would she die like Psyche? Be forgotten like Sno? Would the child never know of her father like Glacia? Love did not abandon, threaten or judge, but perhaps friendship was still possible if they both could start back from the beginning and slowly push the past further and further behind. Ophelia thought that maybe, just maybe, she could accomplish something similar in her own, pristine mind. The poem’s verse changed in time and tune, ebbing and flowing with the natural way of age and words a she fell in and out of love and grew, and now her song was deep red, a bloody scream of injustice and a desire for pain. Above all else was this vehement rage, crushing her throat and sending her hooves onward past her body’s point of giving up. She wanted Midas to end, to bow at her hooves, to kneel and declare her superior, but he never would. The martyr would cry injustice and whine like the coward he was, never looking in to find that the true problem was his own, foolish heart. His blindness and paranoia would be his downfall, just as all arrogant men find their end, and she would be the harbinger of his fate - in the shadows, of course. There she lay as a spy, using his own friends against him, friends he had neglected. His voice struck her like the breath of winter, and she frowned. ”No, you are not,” she agreed without hesitation. Mauja was not easy to remember and she could not forget. ”I see more sides to you than I can reconcile, and I do not forget. You are not alone in this prison in my head.” Absently she looked around her at the ghosts of memories gathered, following in the wake of her future. She supposed that he could truly change in all this time, and for as often and as strangely as they met, every action had been chaste. Perhaps, to him, she was a friend and not one of his many… females. Ophelia had tried more than once to fix herself, but the only mending strong enough to keep the pieces together was ice. She burned out the holes of pain and built a blockage of apathy and serenity, removing the anguish from her soul. And she had changed, unforgiving and cold. She was not an isolated point to be revolved around - merely a dancer on a string. Grateful that he did not stop her, she walked steadily forward, nearing the location of a future meeting which would change the fate of Helovia forever. The many paths of the future criss-crossed like strings, ever changing and unknowing. A single breath could cut this path short, and she walked precariously on the shaking wire, inching toward her goal. Fortunately, she had spent her entire life walking a fine line. She was used to the danger. ”The World’s Edge is invading the Hidden Falls and the Aurora Basin is assisting,” she said simply, knowing that this information would be safe on his solitary, wolf’s ears, and he could do with it what he wished. Ophelia’s strange, two-colored eyes snapped to Mauja’s, lips set in a grim line. ”Midas will pay for his ignorance, and I will set right the crimes against you and the unicorns. My father was a paranoid fool and now the Gallant is no better.” ”We attack on the first sunrise of Orangemoon. If you want to avenge your former herd, we would welcome skill,” she said again, remembering how he had crushed her in the sand so easily. Compared to his strength and ability, she was but a leaf on the ground with a tough exterior which shattered at a single step. Absently, she hoped he would join the fight - maybe, just maybe, it would help him out this wandering pit of desolation. Maybe, he would find who he was and lead again. Maybe not. Maybe this is the real Mauja. A memory popped into her mind and she glared at him furiously. ”My daughter, Roskuld, is old enough to make her own decisions, but do not think that your presence with her has escaped my notice,” she growled protectively in a way only a mother bear could. Though she did not deserve the title given to her by nature, having only birthed Roskuld and not much else, she loved her dearly and she wanted to try. She wanted to be better. ”I surely hope for your sake that your intentions are pure lest I be forced to bury you in the dirt on which you walk - such is a mother’s love, of course.” Was she jesting or serious? There was a bit of both lacing her tones... |
 Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done. Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning. |
Please tag me in every response!
