The old mare didn’t know why she bothered coming here anymore, when she knew full well that lightning rarely struck the same place twice. No matter how many times she had made the arduous climb up to the Heavenly Fields, the so-called sun god was never there. She didn’t expect him to be today, but perhaps it was nostalgia that called her to the meadow, a ritual that had become a comforting constant in the chaos of her cursed life.

As usual, the hike was difficult for her aching joints, but Sheba pressed upwards stubbornly, determined to reach the summit. Nearly two years of being trapped in this body had taught her a thing or two, and she knew how to pace herself and when to rest in order to preserve her valuable energy. She had always been aware of her own physicality, but Fireball’s antics had forced her to become hyper-vigilant. Her movements were slow and deliberate, and though they were nowhere near as graceful as they had once been, she was able to make it up the hill without collapsing—a small victory that she privately celebrated as she reached the dewy peak.

However, she was not alone at the top of the world. A small, dark figure stood at the edge of the field gazing over the cliff, perhaps appreciating the view. Not wishing to disturb him (nor attract his attention, lest he be repulsed by her ugliness), Sheba moved quietly into the grass. Leafy tendrils swayed around her, stroking her belly and snapping downward at her hooves, but aside from her telltale rustling, the old gray mare remained silent. Once the stranger had gone, she might take her turn at the view as well, but for now, she lowered her head to graze. All the while, she kept one rheumy eye on the young stud in the distance, hoping (albeit a little grumpily) that he would have his fill soon and be on his way. He was a rugged and well-built youth, she observed, and Sheba guessed that a tranquil field would not hold his attention for long, especially if she was its only other occupant. That was one of the few perks of losing her beauty: she had become well and truly invisible. So thinking, the wizened unicorn stood knee-deep in the new grass, biding her time.

After some time, the stallion turned from the cliff and made as if to depart. Glad to have the meadow to herself, Sheba kept her head down, grazing nonchalantly. Goodbye stranger, hello— wait, what was that? A dark shadow slipped into her field of vision, and she glanced up in dismay to see that he wasn’t leaving after all: instead, he was walking towards her. Wonderful.
 
Though Sheba had been approached many times in her lifetime by stallions often more lecherous than this young one, she found herself tensing at the stranger’s advance. Consciously, she forced the coiled muscles to relax and the once-proud head to rise, but the feeling of discomfort still lingered. He did not intimidate her exactly, but she knew that studs of his age could be especially cruel when it came to matters of appearance. Had she not once egged them on herself, delighting in the way they mocked the plain? She remembered every cutting insult and crass joke, every derisive guffaw, and she remembered them well. Perhaps it was ironic that she had used the rubble of others’ confidence to build her citadel when today, she could only stand outside the walls longing for the beauty locked inside.  Or perhaps the gods had deemed it a fitting punishment for what she had done. Either way, she did not like the feelings that surfaced under his probing gaze. They reminded her unpleasantly of times long gone, of a past even before this past, when she had been young, and vulnerable, and stupid.
 
Weak, an unbidden voice in the back of her head prompted.
 
But she had never been weak, her mind fired back immediately. She had never been weak, only unwise, and she would not start by letting this golden-eyed stud get the better of her, not even in her current set of unfortunate circumstances. Though her body and her pride might have suffered irreparable blows, she clung fiercely to her dignity. Sheba would not be cowed by this stranger, nor any other: this she vowed to herself before deciding to answer his question. “Long enough,” she replied rather neutrally, though privately thinking the same thing with a more pointed intonation. Dipping her head again, she pulled up another mouthful of grass, surveying him as she chewed as if to communicate that he did not overly impress her. If conversation was what he wanted, he would have to try harder than that to engage her. After all, Sheba would have no qualms if they skipped the idle chitchat altogether and he continued on his way—the less, the lovelier, that was her philosophy.
 
OOC: Sorry a) for the ridiculous wait, and b) that she’s antisocial xD