"Where brilliance is good and madness is better..."
Helovia Info
Helovia opened in February 2012! We are an active fantasy equine RPG
Where once the world narrowed into naught but gray dust and desolation, the gods called for life. Wielding the elements of fire and light, dark and wind, earth and water, spark and time, they have created Helovia. The realm is set within the mythical globe of Loorien, a planet rich with all variety of creatures and blessed with all manner of magic. Originally populated by nomadic, tribal characters, they've since grown into massive empires saturated with culture and history. Separated into four distinct segments of Helovia, called "The Regions," each band of horse strong enough and capable enough, took up the power and responsibility of leadership. Unicorns, old, wise and mysterious, took to the north, hidden in forests of mists and shadows and rarely making themselves known beyond their cliffs of the World's Edge. Equines, vast, organized and militaristic, split into two, one group went north to the Windtossed Foothills and the other group went south to the Dragon's Throat. Pegasus remained nomadic, making their homes in various parts of The Wilds in a migratory manner. For many generations, the land was peaceful and calm, but peace was never the way of the gods. With a clash of argument, war and bloodshed massacred Helovia, and in the aftermath, the realm was eerily quiet. Now, as newcomers sweep into this land, they are met with the lingering bitterness of the gods and the struggle to reclaim what was lost. Nothing remains safe or certain while sorcerers and soldiers alike brood and bide their time for revenge, honor and glory.
Site Wide Plots
Kaos :: The Beginning of the End ☼ - 6/2017 - Kaos placed Helovia in a time-bubble for a short period of time, but the Helovian gods are fighting back. But Kaos is powerful- far more powerful than anyone thought. This may be the beginning of the end of Helovia as we know it.
Kisamoa :: A New Kind of Kaos ☼ - 3/2017 - Kisamoa asks Helovians to help him restore the Spectral Marsh. Which side will you choose?
Invasions :: All Out War ☼ - 5/2/16 - New layout and the brand new invasion rules are up! Thank you for your patience and we look forward to getting started with this new adventure.
The Rift :: Gods Do Die ☼ - 8/2015 - Helovia Gods are saving the Rift from corrupt gods! Can Helovians band together against these foreign deities?
The Literal Ship ☼ - 2/8/15 - Oh no! You have to pair up for Valentine's day!
Sky Island :: Murder ☼ - 10/25/14 - Vesta has been found dead on the island, and the gods have called to you to solve the murder!
Sky Island :: Peace ☼ - 7/7/14 - An island has appeared in the sky! Clouds carry Helovians from the Veins to the sky.
Restoration :: We Welcome the Dawn ☼ - 9/21/13 - The sun has finally risen on this day, giving the land new light, but the Time God and the Sun God have yet to be seen.
Endless Night :: Broken Magic Plot ☼ - 8/30/13 - The earth god has returned and is walking across Helovia to heal the land. Every area can now be considered lush and prosperous, but the sun has still not risen.
☼ - 7/19/13 - The moon has risen in the sky, heralding the return of the Goddess of the moon. Lamp trees which light the paths have grown brighter, moon flowers which grow in dark places have begun to grow and prosper and the world is brighter, filled with a new hope.
Endless Night :: Dead Magic Plot ☼ - 6/22/13 - The gods of Helovia, in order to protect the world, have disappeared into the rift, leaving the world sunless, moonless and magic-less in their absence. Only the herdlands have a source of light, but lamp-trees with glowing leaves and branches sporadically line the popular roads and paths from place to place.
Doppleganger Plot ☼ - 6/20/13 - The God of Time is still struggling to close the rift though which the dopplegangers have come. He has requested that his brothers and sister assist in closing this hole, but without knowing why it opened, the task is proving difficult. Magic still remains faulty and hard to control, but the herdlands continue to be places of refuge for those who are fortunate enough to call these lands home.
ORANGEMOON cools off the lands with a a viscious force. Colder than normal, a sign of things to come during Frostfall, Helovia is bathed in a rich tropical lushness - albiet a cold one. The coastlines of the Dragon's Throat are pelted constantly by tidal waves, and the desert climate is humid but chilly. Ice begins to form early in the Aurora Basin leaving the winding trails slick and dangerous. The mists of the World's Edge coat everything in a glistening crystalline shine which encourages mould to grow everywhere. The Spectral Marsh is the only area which remains fertile, blissfully temperature and lush.
Cotm
Character of the Month for
June, 2017
WEAVER, Corporal of the Aurora Basin, is a relatively recent addition to Helovia and has taken it by storm. Branded with the seal of Death on her chest, intrigue and interest follow both her past and present. Though she is assuredly beautiful, her sometimes sharp personality reveals that there is more to this uni-peg hybrid than meets the eye. Proving herself able on the battlefield in the Basin’s warrior ranks, we can’t wait to see her test her mettle against the looming Kaos happenings! Congratulations!
Helovia RPG was created by Tamme and Blu and coded by Tamme also known as Schwartze. All coding, palettes and imagery are copyrighted to the website and are not for use outside of Helovia. Thank you to our ServerMaster for hosting Helovia. A special thanks goes to Neo for all of her coding help and fixing Tamme's errors, Boom, for her loyal service and creation of the Time God, and to Ali for her consistent contributions and dedication.
Feel lucky for what you have, when you have it. Happily ever after doesn’t mean happy forever.
It was mesmerizing watching the snowfall.
A billion unique patterns all coursing through the air toward the ground. Only to become one giant, glittering landscape. It remained nearly undisturbed, only the occasional hoof print or track to perforate the surface. Elsa stood out in the middle, completely exposed, and sitting within her own snowstorm. Her back was covered with a layer of snow, camouflaging her further. What was there to hide from, though? Nobody would be looking for her, not in a million years.
This was the first time that didn’t bother her in the slightest bit. She took the loneliness for what it was worth; no one needed her. All she was ever used for anyway was a crutch, a mother, and a warrior in waiting. If nobody needed her, that had to be a good thing. No one needed help standing, functioning, or living. It should be a blessing then, right? Edgar remained unusually silent. The bird had become oddly aloof the past days. He had become so used to the emotional chaos, that without it, he seemed to be dying of boredom. So she let him go for now, to be free from her. So in silence she remained, no bird and no socializing.
And with that, she began to watch again, letting the snow cover her back. It was the simple things in life that held her attention, no matter how insignificant it seemed. So she began counting the flakes, numbering them higher and higher until finally the amount of flakes passed the number of mistakes she had made. Now at least the snowflakes were able to blend in easily, so she began to feel hopeful that she could. The mistakes she made would eventually be buried beneath her triumphs.
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
It's like there is something missing—
—the eyes are open but the signal's lost—
—like there's something missing, stripped away; if you flay the skin off the flesh and rip the flesh from the bone, you're left with just that: bones.
If you strip a mind, a soul, a heart, of feeling and hope and joy, what are you left with but cold logic, rationality? Something sterile, razor sharp. And he stood there in a snowfall so white and so pure it could've been salt or sugar, each color blending in seamlessly and leaving the world lifeless. It fell on his nose, his ears, his neck, his back; it shrouded him in as much white as he already wore, slowly, slowly trying to claim the spots of black.
Slowly, slowly trying to erase Mauja—cast him into a pit as bleached white as his bones.
There were things he cared for, still. There were things in his heart that was worth dreaming about, hoping for, paying heed to.
But it was buried beneath an avalanche of bloody snow and bitterness.
His trust in the light had been a fragile thing—and it made him cringe, thinking of himself like a delicate blossom hesitantly opening its petals to spring sunlight, and basking in it for a mere moment until the storms with their hail returned.
Mauja, a flower—bah.
But it was how he felt as he haunted his own kingdom, a sterile ghost in a sterile world. He healed his wounds with ice. He hid his broken trust behind ice.
And so it went until he was all ice.
Elsa stood in the snowfall, the flakes dancing around her. She was as muted out in the world as he was, a shadow forgotten in the embrace of white. His head tilted. She seemed oddly loyal.
But to what?
To the crown others bore, or to the mission within her soul?
"Elsa," he says, quietly, striding through the snow. "How are you?"
And he paused beside her, something lost and forgotten briefly remembered in the snow: incorporeal, transient, soon to be buried again.
Feel lucky for what you have, when you have it. Happily ever after doesn’t mean happy forever.
As the snow continued to fall, her thoughts were getting lost within her head. Even trying to work her way around the basic functions of her mind had her psyche trapped within a labyrinth of confusion. Every mistake, every fear, and every horror sliding up a new wall to try and direct it to the place it needed to go- peace. Though the more walls that tried to guide her, the less she understood herself, and the further she drifted from the goal at hand. Yet now, it was beginning to see the path. The dead ends could easily be avoided; a route began to form, desperately trying to bring it to the light at the end of the tunnel. Her psyche could hear it now. The cries of triumphs, the joy of being freed from its own prison- and those were just the basics. Even further behind that lurked the emotions she wanted to feel. The happiness that lurked here went deeper into the depths of the maze, carrying its friend love with it. The pair seemed to be inseparable, so they kept running from reality in attempts to save themselves.
And to think all that went on without her even knowing. Sure, she could see the end goals, but the winding maze it took to get there remained invisible. Before she had arrived at the Edge, she just kept hitting wall after wall. They wouldn’t shatter, and so she had to succumb to the power and submission she so desperately wanted to run away from. From then on, things began getting easier, and the paths opened up into simpler choices, and she could finally begin to make decisions that would make the paths more visible. Eventually, she would find the end, but there she would only find that another set of trials awaited her.
’Elsa?’ Shit, well it looks like trial one for the day was on its way over. Considering he could just run her out in the blink of an eye, she had to tread on ice, quite literally. Her weight suddenly shifted backward then as if anticipating and escape. Torleik and Mauja had accepted her, but she was under the assumption that they were not pleased about her arrival. Even though Ophelia had given her some credibility, that did not mean, under any circumstances, that the kings were happy with her arrival.
So Elsa was very pleasantly surprised when he asked how she was. The question was super-charged if he wanted the truth, but then again, where had that ever gotten her? Absolutely nowhere. If she wanted to start over, here and now was as good a place as any. Only problem was, is that she was a horrible liar. Emotions often betrayed her thinking, and her words seemed to ooze the feelings that bustled around in the back of her mind. So Elsa opted for the simple and quick answer. “As good as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” her voice trailed off, as she glanced in the opposite direction of Mauja. She still, for the life of her, could not bring herself to look him in the eye. In a way, she felt as if she had signed her life away. It was a wound that still throbbed, and the last thing she wanted to do was revert ten steps backwards because she couldn’t hold her tongue. A warrior was not weak, and could not cry. And if she had a mental breakdown now, she might as well kiss this life goodbye.
“And how are you?” This was at least a baby step in the right direction.
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
And the snow kept on falling in its stillness and serenity, muting out the sound of their voices and making it all feel unreal—like he wasn't quite awake. Lost within the whiteout, and lost within himself, in his perfect prison of crystalline ice. The routes he had trod in his castle, the dust he had disturbed, and yet no life had flickered. Kahlua had been at his walls, at his gates, halfway into the secrets of the King upon his bloody, frozen throne—and where she had walked, flowers had blossomed and light had spilled forth.
But now Kahlua was gone, and the darkness and silence reigned supreme again.
It was more comfortable that way. It was.. easier, he thought, his face a mask of stillness he didn't truly feel. Maybe he looked tranquil, but he simply felt dead.
He felt about as harmless as a squirrel, and as inspired as a dead marmot. He was tired, he was broken, he was directionless, and yet his mere presence was enough to startle the General. Her weight shifted. It would've been amusing, albeit troubling, if she had taken off at the sound of his voice. He wasn't even sure why, but something about it was just.. funny. There he was, snowed in and frozen, treading upon the pathway of his broken dreams, and he almost seemed to scare her.
Mauja's pale eyes narrowed slightly as she looked pointedly aside from him. Was he that terrifying? Or did he look as shitty as he felt, and she averted her gaze out of politeness for not having to question the strength of one of her leaders? Was there something she hid? The tear stains of black bitterness marring the snowy canvas of her face? His head tilted, slightly. Somewhere, the maimed remains of his heart twitched, a death spasm of emotion, but he couldn't make sense of it.
“As good as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” she said, and he said, "Ah,". He didn't think he had ever said it in those quite words, but he had stood alone in the frozen north and shouted the King is dead and somehow it had made sense to him—
What demons haunted her? What lurked beneath the ice of her eyes? “And how are you?” she went on, still talking to the trees.
"Cold," he finally said, white breath rising towards the clouds. "I feel like I've died inside, but somehow my body lingers." And his blue, pensive gaze drifted up between the snowflakes, as if he could follow them to their origin—and find his peace there.
Feel lucky for what you have, when you have it. Happily ever after doesn’t mean happy forever.
She almost anticipated him to leave then. Who wants to stick around with someone who literally is the single most boring, broken, stupid being on the face of the planet? It was so much easier to pretend she didn’t exist than to try and fix, or acknowledge the brokenness. She was the in the crossfire of her own war, and who wanted to be apart of that?
Apparently though, she was not the only one that treads so religiously in the shadows. One of her ears flickered toward him in interest, partly because that shit was pretty blunt. Slowly, she swung her head back in his direction, narrowing her eyes slightly. Was this a test? It certainly didn’t seem like one, but who in the hell just says that? Part of her, deep down inside, feels like she needs to comfort him or something. But she won’t, because right now her definition of comfort was giving him a pat on the back with the longest stick she could find.
In silence she stood, just staring at him, trying to figure out how to respond to this. Should she be truthful? Or follow the path of lies, because thus far that has kept her safe in a box. ”Well fuck me.” She muttered, words still jumbling around in her head. ”If it makes you feel any better, I can be a shell with you. At least then I wouldn’t feel completely isolated.” She shrugged, looking past him as if expecting all of her failures to walk out then. She could see it now; Auriel and Shida proceeded by Oxy with nothing but utter anger and hatred for leaving them- for not protecting them. They would be furious, ranting on about how she had just given up, and was weak. It wasn’t a lie, at least in her mind. She lost. She failed. She left them.
It was all suddenly returning. Her moment of confidence was dwindling quickly, falling back into a slumber. The rising anxiety was almost palpable, her legs felt weak and breathing seemed to take too much energy. ”Why did you tell me that?” She tries to take her mind off the breakdown ensuing. If her head was full of miniature characters, they’d all be running around, papers flying through the air while fires spontaneously erupted all over the place.
Then suddenly had a great epiphany, and actually laughed for a moment, quick and sarcastic, but no doubt a laugh. ”Maybe we just feel the way we look. You’re cold. I’m cold. A conspiracy by the Gods, no doubt.” She rolled her eyes at herself, settling back into a slumped and broken position. ”If you want, I could quite literally cover you in ice. Then you’d have two reasons to feel cold.” Maybe she was pushing it too far with the jokes, but it was the defense mechanism. When all else fails, tell a stupid joke. It will go either one of two ways. Either they will hate you, or think the sarcasm is actually amusing. Then she tilted a brow, pulling her head up to look at him in the eyes. One slicing blue, and one dead white. ”But why do you feel so cold?” He had a crown, a throne, a land, wasn't that the epitome of perfect? At this point, she knew she had a gun to her head in one of the final rounds of Russian roulette. She’s just praying that when she pulls the trigger there isn't a bullet in there.
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
And nothing's wrong but nothing's true—
The flakes fell in ever-shifting patterns, trailing down from the belly of a gray sky. There was no straight path to their origin, no easy way up through the snowfall, and yet his eyes kept on chasing the glimpses of heaven. Somewhere, far away from mortality and dreams and snow and clouds, laid the stars—cold and harsh, indifferent and distant. Somewhere, far beyond the reach of the sun. And to fly...
”Well fuck me,” she finally said after a moment, her head turning in his direction. Something, an itch of some kind, made him want to look down from the sky, and at her now that she did—but nothing happened. His heart beat in a hollow chest, steadfast, and his gaze kept jumping between the white. It was... It was, it was—
It was a pressure building behind his eyes, at the back of his throat, an avalanche threatening to burst his little bubble of tranquility (numb), a rattle in his breathing as he listened—”.. I can be a shell with you .. isolated ...”—and why the fuck did everything end up like this? So broken, so tattered, a doll left in the careless hands of divine children and then flung aside, down to earth. No longer fun. No longer important. They didn't matter. They were just small and broken, insignificant and brief.
”Why did you tell me that?”
It was the sort of thing you only told your closest friends, right? Not something you told a stranger and potential rival—not something you just said. Because life was giant fucking social dance, and when someone asked how are you? they wanted nothing more than a short, polite answer. Social correctness. Well, fuck that—when Mauja asked, he meant it. So when others asked... Honesty, Sarazheha whispered in the back of his mind. Honesty. Live with honesty.
But honesty was hard. Honesty hurt. Honesty was confusing, and still he looked up through the snowfall, black-rimmed ears tipped forward.
(He looked like something old and lost, as if he had wandered out of a story—giant and white and gazing up with ancient eyes that had seen much—)
After a while her words seemed to have run out, biting laugh and all falling into a moment of a dead silence. Still Mauja stared up, and he couldn't even have told himself why. There was nothing for him to find there, anyway—nothing but more sharp-edged dreams and blinding truths. It just seemed easier to space out.
”But why do you feel so cold?”
Because all is dead.
He was a frozen wasteland. Slowly, his gaze slid sideways, down from the mysterious sky and onto the mare sharing the odd moment with him. She was looking at him, truly at him, and he couldn't quite place it—she seemed.. confused, or doubtful, or something.
Had he even known she was half-blind? Had he ever paid attention to her eyes before? (You never pay attention to anything.)
".. I froze over a long time ago," he finally said, his voice quiet. "Life is long. You love and you lose and you never forget." Snowy shoulders rose in a shrug. What else was there to say? He had strangled his emotions while still young, and each time their crippled remains had come hobbling out of the shadows he'd shoved them back. He was the cause of something terrible, and had gone on to do even more terrible things, and somewhere—
Feel lucky for what you have, when you have it. Happily ever after doesn’t mean happy forever.
The way he was speaking had her reeling- both in confusion and distress. The words he had just spoken held a lot of weight, but at the same time, lacked so much content as to make them eerily cryptic. What could have possibly happened to make him this way? What could have possibly happened to make her this way?
Was it all by choice, or just some stupid version of karma coming back for revenge? The endless avalanche of questions just kept pouring down. But did it really all boil down to stupid interaction? He made it sound so simple, like the epicenter of every problem was drawn back to love and loss. It was almost like they had a choice to be happy, and instead, they chose to dwell in their own self-pity and ferment in depression.
Oh if life was that easy.
”Why don’t you change it? Forget they, or whatever it was, existed, and just, be new.” Reality was, she didn’t say that for him at all. Hearing those words come out of her own mouth, it was like she was finally giving permission. Did she have to love him anymore? Did she have to love the girls anymore? There was no way she would forget. But somewhere in her mind, she could put them in a corner. There, she could lock them away and begin anew. No one could touch it, and even she wouldn’t venture back there.
”Do you mind me asking what happened?” Her face shied away at the moment, fearing retaliation. Maybe he wasn’t as protective over his grievances as her, but she knew that if she knew someone this little, and they had asked… she would implode into an emotional disaster. Curiosity would kill the cat though, and she accepted her fate if that was to be. He’d be doing her a favor, right? ”For what it’s worth. I’m sorry.” It slipped out of her mouth before she could strangle it. Her pity meant nothing, and in the scheme of things, he’s probably heard it before. It’s the one thing though, that she craved hearing from somebody. Then she could be released from the bonds of her psyche, and finally scream to the world that she is not crazy. She would have a reason to cry then, and to feel the emotional tension finally snap. That was freedom at it's core.
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Mauja was a dragon, but what he hoarded was not gold, and what he spit was not fire. He was a dragon hoarding its secrets, laying upon its trove of ice and darkness with his heart heavy in his chest, errant sparks of frost slipping out between dagger-fangs into the cold, misty vault wherein he lay. His tomb, as much as his realm—somewhere deep in the ice keep of his mind.
In the real world, though, Mauja simply heaved a soft sigh. It turned to white smoke in front of his eyes, rising up and dissipating, contrast to the snowflakes that kept on falling. And what Elsa spoke of—what Elsa spoke of was forgetting. Letting go. Sacrilege to the one whose mind clung to every tiny detail of life, to the one who lay upon the pile of his experience and encounters even though their sharp edges stuck him uncomfortably in the ribs. But how do you explain that? That to will himself to forget would be tantamount to their death in his mind? It would be a complete, utter betrayal of their existence, of their impact on his life, of.. of all he had felt for them.
Of all the love that had coursed through his veins.
Her voice kept slipping through the snowfall, and to him, it sounded less than counsel for him, and more like her own hesitant, trembling fumbles at coming to grasps with the concept of what he had said: of trying to find her own way through the maze of problems he had hinted at, and maybe, something in it she could relate to. And tried to find where she herself stood in the mess of the words he had given her. She ended by saying she was sorry, and nothing about him had changed; he still stood locked where he was, pale gaze resting on her but with little weight behind it. Who are you? he wanted to ask her. What is it that you want to forget?
"No," he finally said after a moment, the word disjointed in the rhythm and flow of speech and conversation—out of place, somehow, answering something that was asked too long ago to still be considered valid. "To forget feels like betrayal. And..." Again, it surprised him no ice flaked off when his head turned, staring at the forest as if the ghosts of the dead danced between the dark trunks. "I made a mistake. Many died. I left, and kept making bad choices and spreading misery." He snorted. And then I came to Helovia and eventually learned to love, and learned what pain was.
He didn't want to forget. He just wanted the pain to dull, for something more worthwhile to take its place. "I do not want to forget because I am a product of my past—I have to learn from it, so I cannot forget my lessons. I simply.. want something else to bring me joy, so the pain gets easier to bear." His ears had fallen back in a cast of sadness, blue eyes returning to hers. "And you? What has carved you out; made you hollow?"
Feel lucky for what you have, when you have it. Happily ever after doesn’t mean happy forever.
Joy.
Why did the word seem so terrifying now? She had been listening to Mauja speak; seeing part of herself in his complexion. Yet, when he spoke the word joy, is physically hurt inside. She cringed back into her chest, as if the little shard of it that remained was clawing its way to the surface, wanting to be free of its depressive prison. How could he say it when it felt like a knife to her? She couldn’t decide what was worse, expecting joy and then being let down, or never expecting joy and learn to live with it. Did he truly believe that he could rebuild himself? She yearned to have a sliver of his mind if he was able to do so. All she wanted to do was forget.
So why did he care for her story? She was nothing in the eyes of others. Her job was to serve, and to remain, in the best days, unused. Elsa was nothing more than a puppet, and when she was told to pull her own strings; she only ended up getting herself into a bigger tangle than she was before. Who knew what she would say now that the dam was unleashed. Tears pooled at the rims of her eyes, glassing over the one that worked, and staining the grey scar into deeper darkness.
How could she even begin to approach this topic? There were so many little things that just piled into one big disaster. In pieces she sounded like a wuss, and in full context she looked like a walking insane asylum. Who knew she’d actually become the Asylum. ”Addictions. Expecting that a constant high will exist, and then having it stripped away… it hurts so fucking bad.” That was Oxy. All wrapped up into one nice sentence that explained the relationship. She relied on him so heavily that he had become a drug, and with him had flown her happiness.
Then there was the question of the twins. The girls. The ones that she barely even saw after they were named. Elsa had expected to be the good parent, but she wasn’t around for one single thing. She had let them down, like Oxy had let her down. ”Daughters don’t help either. When you have two at once, you think that you can love them even though you don’t love yourself. Turns out that’s a lot harder than it sounds, trying to meet the needs of the ones you want to give your heart to, while balancing mental sanity behind you…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head. She had begun rambling again, like she had a reason to explain her failure at motherhood. ”I wanted to be there. And then they had to run. I let them go, I chose to try and keep a home rather than keep my daughters safe.” She glanced at the ground, taking a hesitant step backwards as if that was going to protect her. ”And apparently Oxy had gone through that to try and FUCKING HELP ME!" Her voice had escalated, cracking at the epitome of her pain as her entire body sunk backwards. If it were possible, she would have collapsed into a pile of nothingness in a heartbeat. It was as if screaming that had sent her soul out with it, and she watched it float away into the snow like everything else. ”I’m a walking disaster.” She muttered, glancing up to see how he would react. Mauja, did you really want a mentally unstable military “leader”? He probably didn't even have a single clue as to what she was talking about.
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
He had not expected her to feel.
Not because he believed her to be heartless—but simply because he did not feel. His tears had all frozen up, stuck somewhere in the icy remnants of his heart, and he watched life through a cracked crystal lens. Detached. A spectator on the sidelines of his own life, wondering with a sense of quiet, whimsical resignation how it had come to this.
So her tears surprised him. They were soft and silent things, gentle and demure, as if sensing the ice giant nearby and afraid to take up space in the presence of such a heartless creature.
But Mauja just thought she looked softer for it. More human, somehow. Like it had taken the sharp edge out of her stance, and some of the broken glass from her voice.
Like it had ground it into her heart instead, such brittle fragments of a perfect life. Vaguely, he knew what it was like—a shattered perfection, something beautiful breaking in an instant and coming down in a hail of shards all around you.
There wasn't any putting it back together. There were just too many pieces.
(You had to melt it down and re-forge it, somehow.)
She seemed as disappointed in herself as he was in himself; two lousy parents stuck together in a snowy glade, the screech so at odds with the peace of the place. Still, his ears did not flick. In fact, it was almost as if he hadn't registered it, simply watching her through the same lens through which he saw his own life.
He couldn't do anything for her, when he was this cold. He couldn't.. He heard her. He understood what she said, and in his own ways, he could relate.
But when she took a step back, collapsed in on herself and threw a (guilty?) glance his way, he could not understand anymore, for such things were in the realm of emotion—a place he had abandoned. It was a move that defied rationality.
I am not your enemy.
"Elsa," he said—ever so gently, his voice a hesitant ray of light, somehow harboring all the patience of the world. "Just give in. Just give in..." There was a lilt and a cadence to the words, as if he ought to be chanting, or even singing. He drifted a step closer to her, cruel in his pristine glory, reaching out a soft, plush muzzle towards her. "Just let go of it," he murmured; if she would not shrink back, he would touch her cheek, breathe on her, gently rub his nose against the base of her ears. "It's alright," he promised, so soft, yet his heart was strung tight with anticipation and wicked curiosity, "it's alright to cry."
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