Unsure what kind of itch was rolling past her skin, the mare stood as silent as the trees, a single droplet of light leaking from her halo like a falling leaf. She glanced past the shrubs and long grasses, polished by the fluorescence of the heavenly circle above her head and then continued to dig through the cloudy darkness with the thick pupils of her eyes.

But what was she expecting, except the ghosts of her conscious; the phantasms of her mind? There was nothing left in this area of the world, whatever lies had been told - whatever new Kings and Queens had been putting themselves before the fogs as marionettes to keep continuing on the charade that the herd-land was still fulfilling a purpose; was still holding the burning candle of prosperity. How can anyone believe that?

And the land was not just dying, it had already died: Back when the Goddess had put her last victim into the lights of the forlorn. The face of the moon buried all the love for herself; all the faith in her moonlit-embrace and the reassuring rakish dancing of her shimmering starlight. It was gone because of the stains left by the darkness. On the priestess' isolated shimmery gaze spread again the distraction of the labyrinths of thoughts and objections which continued on to circle her mind.

Then, entering the faint light that surrounded her, a surprisingly familiar figure floated into her quiet company. Like a deja vu or a distant memory preferably being forgotten from troubled times, it was just like before. Her eyes turned to the silvery water above which the tragic faint lights of fireflies hoovered. Then her eyes returned to the unicorn, the one who had the ashes of the insect that burned themselves on his coat. He had been many things in her head before. But he was King now.

And, just like then, she wasn't sure what to make from the glaziers in his eyes: cold nor warm; neither happy or sad, were just a solidified haze of stillness and quiet. And somewhere inside her she was glad it was still this way. Because, just like then, it made her feel calm in some way, unchallenged. Then she had been troubled, shaken, unable and desperate. But that was then and this is now. He was not the divine King of Fireflies anymore and through the night's cold autumn air she heard his voice before she noticed his lips moving.

"Hey", and it was really soft.

Maren simply stared at him, confused, even if only just slightly. Her eyes evolved, from the eyes that had been judging the world inside her mind, to a questioning one of the here-and-now conflict between what she had been expecting and what she was seeing. With her pupils small and the purples in her eyes shimmering around them, she looked at the stallion standing before her in the mist. "You say that like you carry the whole world on your shoulders," she whispered . . . And not like a King at all.

She had already weighed out that the way the new rulers had been chosen had been unholy and undemocratic. But somehow, after she had heard him convince even Gaucho (and she knew how hard that was) there had been a small high-pitched ringing whisper echoing against the waters of her mind, whispering in wishful words that perhaps it would be alright. Perhaps these creatures were smart enough to figure out the violation of the godly laws that had been broken - and fix it. The former herd of the land had fled, and if it would've been her, she would've put the land under the government of preachers and loyal worshipers of the Moon so that they could fix what was damned by those ignorant of worlds ways. She would let it stay that way until the Sanctuary would be restored and the Moon would have drawn the lights of the night once again.

So what had been that hopeful wishing song, once upon a moonshine? Why couldn't she recall the words of that high-pitched whisper anymore? "But isn't it just the edge of it . . . King?" She stated with foreign tongue, warmth nor cold attached to the silent flames of smoking words. Around her the mist danced a perfect ballet.

Another droplet of light fell like a blurred raindrop through her vision, but her eyes only saw the King of Fireflies. I thought we had both changed, but I guess that's just me. And she couldn't help feeling lonely thinking that.



@[Mauja]

Maren

BY THE PRECEPTS OF HER PURITY