without your love, without your touch, this world for me is never gonna be enough
thinking about you as if i lost you

Will the water be cold? Will the falling feel endless? Will I die on impact, or will i be forced to suffer just a while longer? Her blue eyes are cold, broken and hard, her heart sharpened into a blade. She doesn’t want this, but it’s for the best, it’s so that the baby will never have to exist in a world and suffer its first days when Sikeax rejects it and refuses to raise it.
This way is so much better than having her herd watch her birth a child she doesn’t want, smiling and congratulating her when all she wants to do is sob through their words, knowing that she’s created a life only for it to be wasted.
Hobgoblin is tired of listening to the complementation of suicide. Sorrow only weighs him down. It lives on his shoulders and crawls into his mind as it’s done her’s, and makes sure that he is to suffer just as much as Sikeax does.
“Either die already, or give up.”
If he was there with her, she would stare at him, shattered and destroyed because he’s just thrown her fragile porcelain doll against the cliff faces and black rocks and laughed at it’s pieces when the waves drag over it’s hurt face, crying salty tears of the sea. He doesn’t even bat an eye at how he knows he makes her feel.
She makes him feel just the same with her own emotions and he refuses to let it remain one sided.
By the time that she’s really there, prepared for her descent and the crippling feeling that will surely follow(hopefully for only a short amount of time), staring over the edge into the abyss awaiting her, the world offers her a gift, maybe even a tiny ‘fuck you’.
Amara smells disgusting and looks it too, but her touch is all that really matters. Her breath drags over her skin and pulls her back to reality. Someone will take the child, won’t they? She can drop the child off at another herd’s border and simply leave, hoping someone will come along and take them without a second thought as of who their mother might of been.
She lets the world go black. There is someone happy to see her, happy to give her affection and make sure she’s okay, and for once, maybe everything is okay.
The smaller mare dwindles beneath her when she pulls herself up, swinging her skull over Amara’s neck so that she’s able to feel reality again when she searches for the sway of her friend’s body, the touch of wounded skin against pristine silk.
They’d lived two very different lives when compared. One caked in blood and decorated with scars, the other perfect physically, but just as destroyed as the first mentally.
"Amara…." Where have you been when I needed you most?
"I've missed you so much."




"Talk?"