The Basin bores her.

They do not come to face her boldly, always skirting around her, and she knows why. She is not unaware of their differences, not when she has spent hours staring at her brother, memorizing the shape and slope of his features and how they differ from Mama. There is no fear or shame in the caverns of her heart, only judgment. They are cowardly, with how they dance around the subject as if she is unaware of her mutations. As if she has not owned and worshiped this body she was born in, this caricature that she holds to the heavens with pride. She does not need their love or adulation. Hardly understands what it is. She knows only the way her twin adores her, the fierce possessive love she holds for him in return. They don't need acceptance from others, they have each other. That's all Romina will need until the earth decays and her mortal body collapses into nothing.

Nevertheless she is learning. It is a slow and frustrating process, but one she tries to handle with grace. Mama is a good teacher, in that way. Romina so rarely sees her without the shawl of matriarchy that she only knows to embody grace and poise, rather than embracing the gangle and gaggle of limbs that curse most foals. But she is not most foals. Her tri-toed hooves do not stumble and falter as much as the other newborns, the earth is a solid presence beneath her feet. So she adventures, though it will surely cause her mother heart problems. Alice is never far, and Romina is unaware of the dangers that lurk on the distant horizon.

She only knows that the Basin houses those who speak too softly, watch with wary eyes and held tongues. Romina isn't old enough to be truly insulted, but she is perceptive enough to dislike it. To seek company elsewhere, especially if it means getting out of that wretchedly cold atmosphere. Her bones are too light, her frame too petite, to offer much protection against the chill. Here in the meadow, where there is sunlight and color - color, like the opal sheen of her horn nubs, the ones that made Mama look sad and nostalgic - she does not feel confined. She is but a child ruling over an imaginary kingdom, prancing about with her satellite ears and her ill-fitting confidence, happier than she ever is in the far reaches of the north.

"talk"

These hills are her playground and her kingdom, a sprawling fortress where she strides with purpose among her faithful followers. Her daydreams do not have her playing the sweet maiden, and she never wonders what it would be like to have a handsome stallion sweep her off her hooves and into the sunset. There will be no devotion stronger than the one she fosters in her twin, and none aside he worthy of the weight of her love. She dreams instead of her Mama's stead, of power and grace that she does not have in the realm of her body's limitations as of now. Romina is not aware that she never will, that her body is meant for agility and endurance rather than power and might. She will learn in time to use this to her advantage, to become the crying maiden that slips a silver knife between the ribs of her foolish savior. She will use her body as a weapon; the soft curves of her face and the wide sway of her hips are a promise destined to be left unfulfilled. She is chaos and ruination, and she will embody her brother's name.

Someday.

She is young, unaware of the machinations hiding in the shadows of her mind. Smiles come easy, manipulation faltering and fumbling. These days are for innocence, for the golden heart she will lock away only for her family - her greatest weakness, entrusted to those strong enough to defend it. Though she had escaped the Basin with its towering mountains for the sake of shedding shifting gazes and whispered voices, there was little expectation of actual company. She does not stumble, a skip to her step that startles, long tail curling restlessly as soft ears flicker towards the voice. Orange doe eyes peer towards the older boy, pale lashes fluttering as she tries to figure out who he is and what he desires.

Romina wanders towards him, grace natural in her long limbs as her tail uncurls to sway behind her.

"Escaping," her sweet voice sings, a little smile playing nervously on her lips. Steps towards the boy with an inquiring tilt to her head. "You must look frightening with your marking," she states simply, no sense of guilt or shame triggering that would make her consider her words - and his feelings - more carefully. But her brother is a brute beyond this boy's league, and she does not fear the abnormal. "Are you escaping too?" Hip juts to the sky as one dainty three-toed foot rests itself, big ears swaying as she tilts her head at him while she poses the question. It's implied that she's inquiring whether his marking makes him an outcast, like her, but she doesn't have the vocabulary or experience to word it correctly. She wants to poke and prod, see how he reacts when she sticks different verbal needles into him, but she doesn't know why. A degree of purity still remains within her, in her youth, but it will surely wilt with age.

In time Romina will learn that the truth is the best manipulative device, the sharpest knife and the deepest wound. The banshee will come to understand that an effective lie holds the most truth, and that a heart's hidden desires are the most enticing promises. Her own inherent honesty will fade with time and the understanding that she is different, removed from the sheep of Helovia, and that they do not deserve the purity of her heart beneath the blackness of her apathy. There is no fear in answering the older child, no lies that spring forth at this tender age; even as she naturally weaves and twists her words to suit and glamorize her escapade. She is a princess, with royal golden blood and fine-boned beauty. Her parents and twin adore her, her herd is mighty and beautiful, and she has known nothing but praise and affection in her short life. She will tumble from that golden throne and spend the rest of her life bitter and vengeful, climbing her way back to the rightful top.

He is merely the first in a long line of faces that she will record into her history, and whether he fades or remains is yet to be seen. She is still youthful and mostly innocent, a tender bud in a blooming landscape, yet to make her mark on the world.

He entertains her, at least. Inquiring further, giving her the stage and the spotlight, and she wanders ever closer to him on tiny legs that do not falter. In time this natural born grace will be utilized, but she is still mostly unaware of her differences. Naive, even. Burning orange eyes flirt with pale lashes as she smiles, coy and devious all at once. Teasing and playing is well within her wheelhouse at this age, a subtle macabre twist to the ways of the young coating her intentions enough to give the perceptive pause.

"Why should I tell you? If it's a beast you're too young to kill it, and if it is treasure, I would keep it for myself." One hoof stamps in playful underscore of her words, little opal nubs catching on fire for a brief second in her playful rush. It is harmless but dazzling as it licks at the sky and illuminates the skin of her inner ears, blues and pinks and whites swirling and crackling. Romina wishes she could control it, despises the fact that her emotional state is always so obvious with the way the flames appear. It is embarrassing for the child, though it will become a weakness in adulthood.

But her face falls into something quiet, musing over the taste of bitterness she senses from his tongue. Lips quirk as she imagines her beast of a brother, with his monstrous body and huge horns. "I'm not easily frightened, though," she responds softly, lips twisting into a smirk of satisfaction that as of now is too cute to inspire any real negative emotions in others. "The most interesting things hide behind the scariest skin." Already she knows this, because her brother is the most beautiful gem she has ever encountered, and he is wrapped in the shawl of darkness and danger. Is Kid similarly intriguing? Or is he the first to present himself as an outlier?

"How boring," Roma dubs his answer playfully, kicking into motion and prancing away a few steps, peering over her little shoulder with big eyes, a silent Aren't you coming? "Good thing I found you, then. What is your name? I can't call you the boring skeleton after all." Well she could, but Romina liked to think she had more creativity than that.

There is something almost...mocking about the way he speaks. Amusement, perhaps? But she doesn't know what she said that was funny. Romina is not perceptive or wise enough to catch his tells, but her intuition sparks momentarily. Orange eyes slant towards him for a moment as if daring him to continue, trying to analyze what was making her feel the way she was. But she was just a child, and a very young one at that. She tosses her soft short mane and instead preens dramatically, a playful smile pulling at her lips. She glances at him from the corner of her eyes, trying to appear elegant and important for the charade. ”You’re learning quickly, skeleton boy,” she pronounces with a lilted voice, jokingly trying to replicate something poncy and aristocratic.

Of course, such playfulness is not nearly as fun or intriguing (to Romina, that is) as the conversation the boy offers. She swivels to face him better, contemplating his words and tilting her little face as if to analyze him from a different angle. Hums softly in her throat and smiles like she holds the secrets of the universe, regardless of her age. This boy is proving to be quite the interesting sort, and Romina eagerly sinks her claws into him. When she tires of him she will release him once more, but for now he is engaging enough to warrant her attention.

”I never said scary. I said interesting.” It is a distinction she finds important, and one she will emphasize mysteriously to the dark gem of a child. ”A monster is not what you are. It’s what you do.” And her eyes glint for a moment, as if she is excited to begin those actions herself someday. But instead Romina flicks her long tail and prances back into the field, unwilling to award anyone her constant full attention. ”But...the ones who look like monsters are more interesting,” Romina continues, her brother’s handsome face flickering in her mind’s eye. Her father’s mangled horn, Kiada’s dark features, the various beasts of the Basin that haunted the frozen earth.

”Because they grow up and everyone whispers. They grow up different. I like to see how different.” Romina angles her gaze back to Kid, suddenly sharp. As if trying to see beneath his skin to the personality beneath. A jeweler with a precious gem beneath her powerful scope. ”That’s why we are both different.” It’s stated simplistically, as if Romina doesn’t have to explain her opinion any further. As if there is no way she could possibly be wrong. Her assumption of him is concrete fact to her, if only because she has lived the childhood of abnormal appearance as well. Kinship, if you would.

He follows her into the field of flowers, and she smiles, pleased. Flicks her tail at him and grins around milk teeth as he introduces himself. Kid. And then he compliments her joking title, and Romina already knows she will not be one to use his name. Her own little version of power, to reject his name and substitute her own. Or perhaps it’s because his name is so simple, more of a description than a name. But boring skeleton is simply too much of a mouthful for a name. ”Then I’ll call you Bones,” Romina hums decisively, allowing no argument with the tilt of her smile and the conclusive nod of her muzzle.

Her laugh pours from her mouth, delighted by the rebuttal of naming. ”Call me Fawn, if you wish. Names are powerful things, you know. Rulers should always have a title instead of a name.” At least, that’s what she believed. Her father had a title, and her mother’s name was well known in the land as well. She plucks a bright flower - white and pink - from the earth with her teeth. Turning, she moves to try and place it in Kid’s mane. ”Fawn and Bones. Far more mysterious,” she pronounces with a wide grin. Mystery is a childish notion for now, but she revels in it as surely as any other, truly innocent child.