kid

The king has risen now, I have begun my long race to the glistening crown that still settles upon mother's head. My sibling, we will reach the crown, whether it be together or with one ahead and the other dragging behind, we shall see. These next few weeks will be the most important in determining the status of our relationship, to see if we can handle the crushing pressure of our mother's expectations as well as shoulder the burden of companionship with the competition. Would mother crown us both, or will we be unknowingly tested? These complicated thoughts spread through me, this worry and stress of never being good enough has already consumed me, but I do not let them affect my steps. I will push forward, and sister will follow. 

I can feel her steps, thrumming after me with a sense of superiority, a thundering will to trail behind me. It goes on for a while, and I can feel the excitement of walking, and suddenly I'm tripping forward with unexpected speed, my legs are trembling and as eager as I, swinging with a lack of grace as I trip around mother in quick circles. She seems rather amused to watch me go, all until sister begins to scream, and my prancing stops and my ears flatten in annoyance at the demanding wails of my wombmate. I try to form a word, something to shut her up, but my lips are sealed and I cannot even fathom a word that defines what I want at this moment. So instead I let loose a subtle whine, a plea for silence that I pray mother does not hear because I know that more of my blood will spill if she hears how needy for quiet I am. A quick glance at me makes my shoulders straighten and I feel my knees quiver because I feel fear.  

Finally she snaps, mother's voice ringing our ruthless and cold, her temper swelling as she slams her hooves into the earth and shouts. Shut up, that's what she says. I flinch when her hooves hit the ground, when spit flies from her mouth and veins pop up from her forehead. She is angry, her unsettling look seems to compel me into shuffling closer to her, as if standing away from her will get me some kind of backlash, like she has me tethered to a leash and just snapped it back. She tries to get my companion to duck beneath her, calling my darker twin Sabre, Sabre. My head cocks like a confused hound at the word, the title presented to my female counterpart, because I didn't have one. I wanted to be called something, I wanted to have a title in which to call myself, to be able to know that I had a purpose and a name to go with my death marked face. I was nameless now, a boy without worth as I stand beside mother, candy eyes lingering on her pale hide before she speaks again. Kid. That's what she says to me, our eyes locking for a brief heartbeat to confirm that this is who I will be known as from now on, that this is the name I will wear and answer to.

I dutifully answer her request, my grumbling stomach telling me that what she's offering is what I need. I take the first steps to my food, lips finding the source of my nutrients and the first gulps of warm fluid make their grand entrance, slipping into my stomach and bringing satisfaction. The grinding, twisting pains that had plagued my stomach before dissipated with each greedy swallow. I'm almost done with my first feast when I see a black blur approach, growing more and more defined as it gets closer and closer to us. Mother's body practically burns with anger, her temper flaring as she shifts her stance and stares directly at the slightly horse like shape. I let myself take a few more mouthfuls before pulling away to stare at this stranger, blinking and taking another step towards them. 

We are one in the same, my face marked by the same ivory skull as this woman, contrasting our dark skin and holding our vibrant eyes against a monotone backdrop. How alike we are does not make sense to me, this strange idea of relations outside of mother and Sabre is alien and unaccepted by my young mind. The mere concept of a father does nothing to me, in fact this word doesn't even exist in my vocabulary (at least until the stranger says it) nor does it bring any compelling emotion to me. And it won't, not if mother has her way. 

Volterra, Volterra. Is that too, a name? Does someone wear this as theirs, and does mother know them? I look up to her, watching her search my face like she's trying to solve a murder, and I don't know what she will find buried in my unclean face but it must be something important because she looks for it for a good few minutes. Mother pulls away with something, just a fair grasp at just what it was, but it doesn't seem to be enough for her to be sure, so she stares sternly at the shadow draped girl and talks low and firm. 

"Talk."
@Sabre <3