WE WILL ALL LAUGH
at gilded butterflies
Champagne powder sifted down from the nebulose sieves of the sky, careening through still air like millions of stray, ashen stars. Morphu'um counted each as they landed softly on her nose, their crystalline structures thawing almost instantly from the warmth of her body. Frost clung to her breath like a curse, furling from parted lips like livid plumes of exhaust. Pale, cerulean eyes peered ahead, absorbing all there was to see of this foreign landscape. The cold was not intense this day – it adhered to the air like a wispy film, thin and insignificant, though present, nonetheless.
Perhaps she would have found Frostfall beautiful, had it not been for her aversion to cold. She longed to bask in the warmth of the sun; to frolic through fields of luscious emerald; to admire the vivid semblances of color upon the wings of passing butterflies; to dance along the saline mouth of the endless ocean, liquid lips gently kissing her heels. Winter, of course, held a unique sort of beauty. All things yield beauty, it simply requires a trained eye to trace it. The world scintillated beneath a blanket of frosty ivory as if threaded with diamonds, and things were still, and peaceful, and deceptively affable to the naked eye. It was pitiful such beauty must be spoiled by such hostile frigidity.
But at times like this, when the cold permeated the atmosphere with temperance, she found herself capable of actually observing and immersing herself within the world's true, wintry allure. She continued onward, crisp snow crackling beneath her hooves. Ice adhered to the weathered bones of the trees, but they evinced no contempt, retreated deep within themselves in the depths of their seasonal slumber.
Birds marked of cheery crimson occasionally ornamented their exposed limbs, and they observed her keenly as she passed beneath them – perhaps they found her to be strange, the vibrant pigment of her coat a stark contrast against the white which spanned for quite some distance, interrupted only by thick, towering trunks. Perhaps they were awestruck by her, befuddled as to what genetic error had crossed their paths. It was a horse marked of a butterfly - perhaps they recognized the pattern, the same one their avian eyes fleetingly beheld before ingesting at least once before. Perhaps they felt nothing of the sort. Maybe they just hadn't seen another traversing this parcel of land in a while; maybe she was over analyzing the behavior of birds...
Something reeled in her attention, and she emerged from the recesseses of her mind to analyze something else, something slightly more measurable. She stopped, her movements halted by a new scent. She snorted, gazing out ahead of her, attempting to locate the one in which the aroma had originated.
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REVENANT
i'm waking up i feel it in my bones, enough to make my systems grow
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His medusa gaze lavished the snowy lands with lack luster attention: danced upon the naked trees, the icicle adorned branches, and the few birds that hadn't dared venture south for the winter. His breath was even as he walked and it purled in sultry tendrils skywards... but as he travelled solitary so did he thoughts. They were solemn mostly, pondering secondly. His latest conundrum was the quest the Goddess of the Moon had given him, to bond with someone so fiercely that the relationship's likeness was that of chains. That infernal woman asked him to ruin all that he'd accomplished with his walls – opposing like a thick sheet of ice! He was cold. He was calm. He wasn't easily broken anymore (or rather it wasn't worn plainly on his exterior). Instead of anger, Revenant felt annoyance but there was no use in raging what he could not change, what she refused to relinquish either.
Alas, he was fraught with indecision. Before him forked a path with various directions he could wander... but the least worn one was the most beneficial. It was uncharted terrain full of frightening possibilities... yet he must brave them to obtain his desires. It was not often he desired things and so he should traverse it, emboldened. He should.
But bonds weren’t forged strong as metal overnight.
Call it cowardice or procrastination; he could forget his dilemmas for now (it amazed him how many he’d accumulated since breaching Helovia). There was a strikingly painted woman a few feet ahead of him standing in the snow. Her façade was a pensive one until her eyes found his inkblot body stark against the pristine ivory. Winter was not the man’s playground – not that he skulked and hid. He just amended that he couldn’t even if he wished. ”Hello.” he offered not unkindly but dully, his voice deadened like the tempo-beating heart buried in his chest. His pallid gaze settled on her, licking the contours of her body not in a perverse way or a sultry way, but as a means of stimulation.
Her body was a myriad of bright colors, after all.
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WE WILL ALL LAUGH
at gilded butterflies
Light embraced the stranger's stark physique with an austere veil, keen and luminous. He stuck out like a sore thumb among the array of pristine white, and the chromatic vixen smiled affably toward him. She dipped her head as he offered her a greeting, his words, although lacking buoyancy, were enough to spark a conversation. "Hello," she returned, the feminine cadence of her voice egressing from her body like an organza veil of sound. The fluidness of the words surprised even the orchestrator. A puff of smoke burst from her lungs, and she watched the ebony stallion with a glimmer of curiosity pooling in her cerulean eyes.
"I am Morphu'um," she proclaimed, this time a bit less suave. Her chest trembled with a sharp inhalation, and she studied him, drinking in his masculine countenance. His eyes, the color of topaz, roamed her anatomy. Suddenly, a pang of insecurity reared its ugly head. She abruptly became aware of the cluster of burs in her coarse mane; the mud which clung to her hooves, adhering to the lengthy follicles of her winter coat like the stench of blood. "I -uh, I don't suppose you could tell me where I am?"
[ ooc ; Please excuse the somewhat crummy quality of this, and also the shortness. I'm currently trying to find my muse for her. Expect longer posts from now on! ]
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2hh :: 12 Buff: NOVICE |
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Rita :: Greyhound :: Water Mold
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The snow fell in a merry soft dance and landed gracefully upon the skinny azure back of the Foothills Chief. His gentle step carrying him through the dead wood of the Threshold, it was a simple task to walk from the Foothill's to the gateway of Helovia. Evers found it rather convenient and useful in his task of finally bringing thriving life back to his land. Many scents were left in this humble place, some faint and others not so, and it one of these scents the blue decided to follow and eventually found a mare and a stallion.
Each step made the figures of the pair more obvious and with wide pools, Evers gaped at the mare who was far bluer than himself. She had black veins and a dorsal stripe complete with an intricate face and pools like that of her coat. Hair grew in folds of dark grey and white and for various reasons, she reminded the boy of summer, blue sky and sweet floral smells came to mind and instantly he was drawn to her presence. The other who had already greeted her was a stallion of his own species, with pools of the abyss and a coat blacker than the night that was only pierced by a jagged blaze. His horn was traditional, compared to his six, however it was crooked and tough looking. All in all he gave off the completely opposite vibe from the younger mare and Evers drifted closer to her unconsciously.
He had entered the small group just as the femme offered a name and a question in two. Morphu'um. It suited her well and was a joy on the tongue, the dark steed appeared to have answered and so Evers did it for him. "Helovia, Morphu'um, is the land in which you stand. A place of wonders and I'm sure you'd fit in well." He shaped his vocals to sound like that of a compliment, for she was wondrous, whether she knew it or not. The blue boy cleared his throat and introduced himself with a flourish, his small stocky head dipping in respect.
"I'm Evers, Chief of the Foothills." The revealing of his identity was directed at both mare and steed, his stance was neutral and his distance a polite one. Snow was still settling on his now thicker fur making it wet and cold, thin mane plastered against the horns he bared along his neck.
[ooc; I hope you don't mind him strollin' in :3]
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