the Rift


r u n [ESCAPE THREAD]

Svetlana Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#1




Once there was an angel. A beautiful flying thing, graced with silver and white. She was pretty, gorgeous long eyelashes spun of starlight, hair of frost, lips red as blood. Lovely as she was, she had her own fair share of death and corruption. Angels were not only the guardians of the dead, after all, but the daughters of the death, the bringers of death, the hunters. From her shoulders flowed wings, black wings, for the Reaper had left its mark on its daughters, and had said, fairly so- "Even for your beauty, you are death, and so you must show it somewhere so the men and the women know of your deeds". Death was justice. Death was cold. Death was warm. It was everything horrible and wonderful all at once. But this angel could not bear the bloodshed, even though she would not acknowledge it, would not say it, and Death knew. So Death told her- "Go and live in the form of a horse, and thrive. Horses are normally peaceful creatures, but I cannot say they will always remain such. While I live in my realms, different gods rule the mortal world, different gods play and feast." And so the angel agreed.

But what if there was a different story? A second ending, so to speak. Instead of rising to the heights, instead of Death's choice to become one of his subjects that will one day join him, she quietly and secretly allowed others to live in all realms, humans and horses and other exotic worlds. Even the gods of the living could not give Prometheus immortality without someone's acceptance, and so she stole in the night to give life to him, breathed out on him, even for his wounds. But Death knew everything, and its daughter had forced him to great lengths. The Reaper could not do any more of this- and so Death told the daughter- "You've fallen, my angel, fallen to the earth and shattered." And that is how she was banished from these realms.

Is the story true? Is anything true? Perhaps life is simply the imagination working to give us something to love and hate.




I am walking. There was simply no point in running, for it would draw more attention to the eye. Then again, if I were to run, I would certainly die. At least this way I could set blame down on some idiot unicorn's shoulders and tell the Death in my world the unicorn had chased me away so, sick of the presence of 'others' in his Steppe. I didn't think Deimos had a soul. Perhaps the Gods took it away by accident- I think he's the equivalent of all evil in this world. He's worse, worse than anyone else in this frozen wasteland, for he doesn't care. Not of pain, not of love, not of emotion. Even the unicorns who tell him the orders feel glee or hate, or wonder, but Deimos is unfeeling.

At this point, I am not even sure if I want to leave the Steppe. Why? My herd did not come to fetch me home. They had not sought me out. Did they simply not know of my imprisonment? Did they all die or something strange? And what of Evers? He was close to me... even he must surely know I wouldn't willingly not be with the Foothills for more than a week. I wasn't confident in my time-telling abilities, not now, but it must be almost spring. Spring! I must've spent half of Frostfall here. And nobody had come for me.

[OOC: I honestly don't know if I want her to escape or stick around so it's up to Heather if she allows Svetlana to escape ^^]

""

SVETLANA
the StormChaser


[Image: white-feather2.jpg]

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Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#2


Iron and intimidation into hedonistic sinew, fostered by demonic art, entangled with Tartarean guile, immersed in the statuesque threads of a depraved, nefarious heathen, he stood upon the threshold of winter and further chilled its core. His primordial treachery, his simmering, argent domination, his distorted, contorted puissance could not wither, could not decay, poised over the dominion of his Stygian heart, poised in annihilation, prosed in supremacy. The curse of his bounty was a noxious, lethal gift, a bestowing of Mephistophealean artifice, woven into the tresses of his silver skin, sliding amongst the rows of sin. Even now, his piercing eyes ghosted over the ruins of the Pegasus mare, scorched and punctured, harpooned and ruptured, until there was nothing but the carnage of her soul gleaming amongst the pale. The subjects of his allegiance, that damned insurrection that chiseled him into further villainy, into rapturous, heinous glory, had toyed with her, lacquered any looming finery, any warbling trill into a requiem, into a dirge. What storms are you chasing now? Did she croon for salvation? Did she weep for humanity? Did she cry for preservation from the depths of remaining divinities? She wouldn’t find it here, not in the unholy, godless, callous, inhumane and barbarous reels of his chaotic splendor, of his decadent grandeur, of his merciless, rancorous palisade. The detachment, the isolation, the seclusion, of his ethereal entity refused to warrant her any benevolence; not a shred of virtue was left within his skeleton of pernicious, presaged danger, and his ruthless, overwhelming prowess fed the reticence, the recherché, the heedless, corrupted chisel of motions, of movements, coiled, taut muscles posturing their wretched scorn. Deimos, a word christened into terror and fear, would not allow her to leave.

He combed the shadows until her motions suggested a frantic, deluded escape was in her mind. The panic, the trepidation, and the apprehension in her gaze rendered her decision clear, an imprudent cry of a weakened, dying catch, where anxiety settled into their minds and sought an alternative to the pain, but always ended in the claws and canines of their hunter. He wasn’t about to let his prey wander from the confines of her dungeon, flee into the night, run towards a safe, secure homeland. She was quarry, chosen for a specific purpose, and to allow his labor sundered would be foolish and vacuous. Carnivore predilection, immoral calamity sung from pariah hooves, slipped from the veil of shadows and haunted the breath of her desires, of her motivations, of the will to separate from captors and a dingy, cold oubliette. His monstrous, behemoth allure brought forth his daunting, disquieting, and hushed frame, standing feet away from her, adrift in the ice, home in the perilous world of Siberian interludes and predacious rapture. Not a single word was uttered past his lips, but the rapier blade of his stare, of his might, of his power, of his menace whispered through the wind, passing along her ears, lacerating her dreams and aspirations. There is no hope for you here.




Svetlana Posts: N/A
Unregistered
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#3




So I wasn't allowed to go freely. The Devil in his darkness had come after me. Already, I began shivering in his presence, fear coming out of the bravery, hate coming out of hope. I cursed myself, curst myselv a thouzandth timeths, hating for the stallion, hating myselv, hopeless me. Get a grip, I told myself, but inside my silver skin I was shrinking into a fearful mess of soul, terrified, absolutely petrified, by Deimos' presence. Any words to excuse myself were gone. I was the lab rat waiting to be tested on by a scientist. The rat may feel fear, the scientist feels nothing, it is procedure and experiment. What would he do now? Attack me? I would prefer the physical pain over the difficulties of his dark magic, the magic that takes away the brightness of your soul. Any happiness was simply destroyed. Even death I might prefer over his nefarious crimes. So strong was his magic I knew, well knew, even in ten years from now when I was an old mare, I would be afraid of him, just as afraid.

This was all before his magic slipped inside me, crooned its dark stories. And now I couldn't control. A whisper, a very faint whisper, escaped my lips- "Please, please, please don't." After that I couldn't summon the energy to say more. His curst magic haunted me, spun itself around me, except this time, it wasn't just at my feet, it was everywhere, so black and so cold, worse than any torture, any physical pain I've been through.

""

SVETLANA
the StormChaser


[Image: white-feather2.jpg]

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Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#4


He did nothing, committed no action, did not drive the onslaught of his enchantments into her pathetic frame, and yet, she still shuddered. The menace of his potential, the puissant prowess of his pernicious, heinous entity, was enough to send her into a quivering mess. He overwhelmed, devoured and swallowed her precious armaments, her everlasting, eternal perseverance, witnessing the loss of strength as she withered into a trembling fortress. This was his might, his brawn, the force of his ethereal wake, compacted and carved into devilish, infernal heresy; the bestial swing of his nefarious cutlass. His unfeeling stare watched as she shivered, the weakness, the fear, the horror, flooding through the pit of her hollowed gallows, the infernal march of nothingness twisting her into sentiments of shrinking martyrdom. His fellow members would have laughed, chuckled, contorting into fiendish glee, hyenas on the plain, but he remained silent, hushed, a witness to her haunting lullaby, stoic, nonchalant and impassive. Too unfeeling, too austere, too glacial to be moved by her emotions, he continued to merely stand, focused and taut, waiting for her actions to leave her in a weeping mess, for the calamity of his maelstrom to completely consume her, body and soul, incomplete and hollow, a vessel of fragility, broken, splintered, pierced by the lethal mortality of his mere presence. Escape was a futile grace, inefficacious and useless in the realm that housed his haunting soul, puncturing and lacerating strength from the veins of pride and vitality. If her herd ever did arrive for her, she would no longer be what they recalled, a memory forged and discarded by the blades of his unholy, wicked, immoral design. Would she be replaced by contempt and loathing, or the folly of her lament, the sickening requiem that slid over the wind? The licentious creed that weaved supremacy around his heart beat a steady tune, drum, of depravity, discord and bedlam in the quiet, unyielding lacquer of ravenous torment.

[He’s currently not using his magic towards her, though its always a constant force surrounding his body. So it is up to you to decide whether she is affected by it or not. :)]





Svetlana Posts: N/A
Unregistered
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#5




No, I realized, his magic was not reaching out to me. It was around him, a constant cloud of roiling darkness creeping over the earth, killing the life where he walked. Silence met my ears, stone silence only interrupted by the gentle lap of iron waters against white snow. You are letting him do this to you, Svetlana. I couldn't help but think, guilty, so guilty. I sigh through my nostrils, still feeling his darkness hovering around him. With the knowledge of him not using it, I am able to correct my behavior of fear, come walking over to him without a word. Disgust. I feel disgust for myself. Does he feel anything? Is he really a unicorn supremist, this gray statue who doesn't talk, doesn't have emotion?

My hooves crunch on snow. I look down at them. Black. Obsidian against white. Look at them. I urge myself, as to avoid being caught in Deimos' black web. I ruffle my wings. Sometimes it feels I don't have wings, they have gone so long from use. At least my primaries are growing back- they are only slender little wisps right now, but one day they will become what they have been. I begin walking back towards the herd of unicorns, not caring if he follows me or not. A guard he may be, but he does not speak. He watches, he waits, no words leave his tongue and his heart is a slab of stone. Mute, maybe, but I think he prefers solitude and silence, just as I have among these unicorns.

Like always, I take my place silently among the edges of the herd. Where is Evers and Archibald? Where is Nayati? Don't they care?

""

SVETLANA
the StormChaser


[Image: white-feather2.jpg]

Image Credit
Ascended Helovian

Ophelia the Amaranthine Posts: 701
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.0 hh :: 6 Years HP: 77 | Buff: BULK
Tinek :: Royal Silver Dragon :: Frost Breath & Shock Breath Tamme
#6

               OPHELIA                

Just one beat of your heart, and stranger than fantasy

I knew from the start you had to be the place for me


Is your love strong enough?



Ophelia was who she would have been, had her entire history been erased. She existed now as if the entire world had rotated by and she had awoken from a terrible nightmare into a brand new, bright reality, but some things lay so deep in the heart that not even a memory could erase that emotion. Thus, the white mare found herself in the snowy north, overjoyed by the snowflakes dancing upon her pale skin. A silver dragon followed her, but she did not know who he was or remember anything about his existence. When she returned to the land of the conscious, he had been there, and everywhere she went, he followed.

The mare did not complain. His silver scales and red eyes were beautiful, and his presence made the loneliness in her heart fade to a soft memory. She found it curious that she was etching the sights and sounds of the world into her memory and that the images were not going away. Was she born that way? Could she forget anything at all? Ophelia was a smart girl, and as such, she knew that something had happened to make her forget. She was not a child. A few years had passed without her knowledge, but life was too lovely to live without questioning the past.

Two figures in the distance caught her eye, and she watched them with new, untainted eyes. Cloven hooves carried her forward. The mare was pale with dark wings, and she seemed to be upset by the massive, grey unicorn. Was he harming her? She trotted forward, bravery and a sense of honor driving her to care for those who were mistreated. Compassion drove her tender, unlocked heart, and once she arrived on the scene, Ophelia placed herself at a short distance between the two.

She should have known Deimos, but she did not. Ophelia remembered nothing. She had forgotten what it felt like to have her soul drain from her body. She had forgotten insulting his homeland and trespassing. She had forgotten Mauja. She had forgotten everything, and it was pure bliss. "Are you all right?" she asked the mare. Svetlana had seen her before too when she announced to the Foothills that they had chased Ricochet out. That memory was lost. Then, her strange, dual colored eyes looked to the grey monster. "I hate to be presumptuous, but you should be kind to your lady-friends."

The pale mare looked between the two faces. "I am Ophelia," she announced with a gentle smile, her ears tipped forward in relaxation and her body unafraid and unwavering.


CREDITS




Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.


Please tag me in every response!

Djinn Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#7
Djinn

No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure.


Habits were strange things. Before you knew it they entered your life, altered your ways and changed you, slowly but surely. They came and went, some sticking while others were only temporary, ultimately changing the you that others perceived. The thing is, habits don't just suddenly change. They fade gradually, like sand blown to cover the hoof prints trailing along a shoreline. When someone suddenly change their ways without rhyme or reason, it is usually a sign of something being wrong.

Like when a girl suddenly strays from her usual routines, leaving behind family, friends and work to take off gods knew where, so suddenly that even her faithful servant and new shadow lost track of her. Normally Djinn kept a bit of distance between them, strolled after her and lingered on the sidelines as not to make her aware that he was watching her every move. Ophelia didn't need to know how seriously he took his promise of watching her back, or how diligently he watched every horse she came in contact with. That he had managed to loose her now was worrying, the frenzy with which he searched for her almost zealous. Had something happened, was she ill, had she gotten herself injured when he wasn't looking?

The relief he felt upon finding her tracks surprised even himself. It was as though a lump slipped from the throat and settled back into the gut, as if the heart had stopped beating only to now resume its work, once more providing blood for the brain and allowing him to think clearly.
Really, it shouldn't be surprising that she went away from time to time. What did he know of her, after all? Not much, they had met only recently and she remained a mystery, one he wished to solve. Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was off as he followed the footsteps across the slowly warming landscape, large hooves crunching through the crust of sunkissed snow. Even the elusive Ophelia had her habits, and disappearing shouldn't be one of them.

Cheerfully talking to dangerous looking stallions really ought to be removed from the list too, but sadly the girl wasn't entirely aware of her own worth or the possible dangers a foreign face could bring. Djinn gritted his teeth and sighed as he finally caught up with her, finding the pale young mare in happy conversation with a unicorn that reeked of death and unspeakable terror, and a winged mare who's expression appeared more than just a little distressed.

"Leave it to her to make my job harder" he muttered to himself and lengthened the steps into a trot, that quickly brought the demon-eyed stallion toward the small group. He gave the strangers a wary look as he placed himself next to Ophelia, slightly further ahead than she was and muscles tense in case he would have to make use of the crystalline horn that sprouted from the forehead.

"Do pardon the intrusion" he said lazily, deep voice lacking the normal jesting tone but still somewhat laid back as the mercenary assessed the situation. "Is there a problem, ma'am?" A quick glance was spared towards his small commander, partly to see how she liked this down-to-business attitude of his and partly from curiosity - that bright expression wasn't one he'd ever seen with her before. Normally the crimson princess was much more... well, guarded.

Nor is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain.


Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#8


The cool demeanor of his existence still continued its ambient chill, the scythe in the sinister coils of sedition, insurrection, and calamity, crooning acrimony with the silence of his command, intimidation, virile, treacherous malice. Svetlana, once cherished lead, shuffled away, broken, despondent, muffled bits of misery stuck to their glacial expanse, tufted in the bounty of her wings and feathers, and he remained between her and salvation, gathered in the taut curves of his muscles, blackguard and sculpture in the rapier bliss of his immoral onslaught. Destruction, corruption, condemning the eager virtues to the unsung follies of sin and Tartarean wiles, watching as the curse, the gift, the blight, the blessing, of his entity stretches its nefarious snares around the prowess of horror and mayhem. He would have stayed, frozen, alluring marble decadent and danger carved into the whims and fancies of devilish, heathen pursuits, until she’d withered and decayed in the splendor of frost, become one with the snow, gelid and rimed, skeletal carcass of ice and melancholy. Instead, his attention is drawn elsewhere, to occupants harkening the threshold of the maintained oubliette, and the pernicious foil of his rapacious, carnivore contortions whispered, forced him to lace his piercing gaze upon the first creature.

Recognition dawned immediately, the meticulous formation of his thoughts, of his schemes, of his guile, hadn’t forgotten the features of a trespasser, of an interloper that attempted cruelties upon a realm he once shielded, of a soul he’d almost damned. The ferocity of his stare loomed upon her now, studying the mottling of ivory, the capricious tides she’d enamored and collected – why did she appear so content in his presence (for no one ever was – they were wary, even in his best moments)? Why did she relax? Why did she remain tranquil, pondering the exchange between prey and predator? He had half a notion to show her the meaning of his terror again, in these deserted corridors there was no sibling to save her, no dreadful sister that choked the life out of his sovereign; just the wilderness, vast, uncertain, tied to the cold, winter battlements of his design. He could bury her and the Pegasus amongst the rubble and ruin of the ice, forgotten until spring’s thaw, yet, he continued the reign of his indifferent, apathetic nonchalance, hissing the harsh candor of his behemoth grace. Maybe then he’d be left alone to watch the earth perish around him. “I am not kind.” But she knew that, was fully aware of his vicious sentiments, his raw power, the finery of his detachment. So why was she here, in the wake of his malice, contempt and loathing? Did she wish to be stolen from life all over again? His final words, harsh, grating, caught from the web of his sibilant tongue, didn’t embark on his confusion, but sealed the tension of their prior encounter. “I know who you are.” The other, some stallion, was ignored altogether, unthreatening, not worth his time or concern, wafting along the blood tassels of daft Ophelia, drowning in the chords of her own curiosity.






Svetlana Posts: N/A
Unregistered
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#9




My breath caught in a mixture of fear and surprise as a shape emerged from the snow, a glistening white shape with locks of red and eyes of ice and fire. Ophelia? I wondered. I could remember her from the herd meeting where Archibald was instated to lead. Yet I only frowned as she drew nearer, a warm smile upon her face. Surely she must know me? I would not willingly go to this beast of a hellish mind. And she didn't know who I was! Unless this was some elaborate plot. Or... maybe. I don't know. Forget it. As for the second unicorn. Brash-looking fellow, the kind I would take on a raid and at the same time, not trust for a second for diplomacy. Sure enough, my dark, chaotic thoughts were confirmed by his grumblings.

I didn't speak, fearful and nervous, prancing slightly in spot, ignoring my wounds. Should I risk asking for help? Would they pick up on it? And what would Deimos do to me if I called for them to aid me? No, I couldn't risk it. My best hope was that they would pick up on my energy, on my wounds. If anything, my captor only helped conform any suspicions as he growled the first few words I had ever heard him utter. I am not kind. In those four words, I felt more terror than every before. Did he feel something, after all? Or did he acknowledge his heartlessness? But he couldn't if he didn't feel something... I shake my head, only confusing myself further.

""

SVETLANA
the StormChaser


[Image: white-feather2.jpg]

Image Credit
Ascended Helovian

Ophelia the Amaranthine Posts: 701
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.0 hh :: 6 Years HP: 77 | Buff: BULK
Tinek :: Royal Silver Dragon :: Frost Breath & Shock Breath Tamme
#10



Every expression she had memorized, the normalcy of common behaviors and even the look of malice had all been erased. She was a clean and empty slate, and the lack of flight response so prominent in most was clearly lacking in her mind. The God of the Sun could not remove her genetics, her physiology; he only emptied her mind. With piercing, glaring blue eyes, colder than ice, the grey demon stared at her, no emotion to be seen on his stony features. He was a wall to his own heart, and the orbs that were normally a window to the soul was merely mirrored glass. Nothing but the white of her own reflection shone back from the cruel blue. The mare was perceptive, however, and she was beginning to notice the obvious tension present between the winged one and the hidden soul.

Twin, tulip auds turned hesitantly to the side as she regarded the pair with now guarded eyes, slowly reining in her open, bright heart. A voice like subtle thunder moved past the stallion's lips, and she furrowed her brows, feeling tendrils of fear curl around her heart. She was not afraid of him, no, but of what he knew. How many did she meet before? All she could remember was the sight of her hooves moving across rock from the veins before a while veil blew thickly in front of any remembrance she may have possessed. Who was she before? Was she wicked? Was she kind? How did she know this stallion who so confidently told her he was not kind? "I..." she faltered, face in a tight grimace. "I cannot remember." She nearly whispered those words.

As she moved back on her lips, she remembered everything from the moment she walked from the veins. Everything. Her mind was incapable of glossing over even those most insignificant of details, so why did she not remember him? "How do I know you?" she asked, looking up at him with honest, desperate question. Curiosity still served as her main predator.

Much to her surprise, another stallion with a horn of polished glass and a white figure came to stand at her side as if he knew her, and she could only guess that he did. She regarded him with new eyes, able to see how handsomely he was built and how strange his vibrant eyes were. Charcoal mane covered the bulk of what looked like blue veins peeking over his shoulder, and a black marking ran down the length of his face. A distinctly male voice moved past his lips that was different than the cryptic, dark tenor of the other stallion. "You know me too?" she asked him, starting to get mildly annoyed with her own inability to remember her past.




COME TO ME
we run away forever from this misery

tangled-stock | Salsola stock




Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.


Please tag me in every response!

Djinn Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#11
Djinn

No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure.


Late as he was, the intangible djinni only heard parts of the conversation that had started before he arrived. Normally this wouldn't bother him, but the expression on Ophelia's face worried him more than he would ever allow anyone to know. That brightness of the smile, the innocent gleam of the dual-colored eyes... It wasn't something he had come to connect with the mysterious mercenary princess he'd found in a borderland forest, once upon a winter morn. This was not the girl he'd fooled to laugh by making jokes at his own expense, the one he had fought a battle of words and will with.

Was she still the glorious leader he'd sworn to obey, protect and respect?

The confidence of the lightning-touched wraith faltered when the pale femme turned her gaze toward him, without any light of recognition brightening her features. There was no veiled curiosity, no thoughtfulness or inquiry about why he kept following her around. Instead he was met with emptiness, a gaze that beheld a stranger - as if it was the first time they crossed paths. As if their games of mental tag in a snowy forest never happened.

For a second, an expression of sadness passed over the face of the demon-eyed boy. A fraction of a second, in which the blue of the eyes darkened by hurt, a breath was held, the ears fell... Then it passed, replaced by a casual grin that was just a slight bit colder than before - as if responding to the faint irritation in her voice.

"Of course I know you" he replied casually, only halfway ignoring the black demon and the distressed damsel - finally a damsel in distress. Finally someone who knew the ropes of things. "So you forgot, huh. Don't take it to heart love; it probably wasn't much to remember anyway. Say, do you recall anything at all? Like, names and such..." Apparently his wasn't on the list, but perhaps there were other things remaining on the inside. He halfway hoped it wouldn't. The more wicked part of him immediately saw a source of endless fun here, with the only uncertain part being whether she would remain oblivious or not.

But why should he care? She had forgotten about him, about their promise. Did he need to uphold it, if Ophelia so easily had managed to let it slip her mind?

"I can tell you, if you want. I know who you are, and what you've done. Just say the word, and I'll let you in on it... If you really want to know."

The handsome smile concealed his true feelings like a silver mask, gave away nothing of the disappointment he felt. He just wished he could hide them from himself too; stow away the sinking sensation of the gut, that made him want to turn around and run from that empty gaze. That empty heart.

Where was the fun in stalking someone who didn't care if he was there or not?

Nor is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain.


Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#12


Deimos had underestimated the simplicity of the mare’s mind, for it became readily apparent she was even more foolish than first encountered. What little brain matter remained within her ears had clearly been churned into something else altogether – her eyes were too vacuous, too innocent, and too feeble to recall her perilous experience with his vicious, pernicious enchantments. In his twisted, detached heart, he wondered what would happen if she were to feel the occurrence again, if he ignited the fuse of his heathen necromancy, allowed it to flood the terrain, collapse the inhabitants of the world against the tumultuous, meticulous derivations of his atrocious apathy. She’d fear him then all over again, scream, shriek, be mired and beguiled by the temptation of his callous inhumanity, immorality, unholy denizen where the devil clawed and whispered in his blood, in his veins, in his undulating keen of scrupulous muscles. He could render her like the trembling wake of Svetlana, no longer chasing storms but calling out for the breeze to end her misery – the measure itself was enticing, malicious and menacing, embarking on terror he could enfold and embroil twice. Yet, instead, he remained the same brooding force, awakening dread and horror through his intimidating stance, through his enigmatic grace, from the wafting, decrepit reign of his mage prowess. Another day, another time, another place, he could pluck the strings of her morality again, destroy the effortless chase of delicacy and ruin the slate of her smile. When she whispered, he listened, the stoic enterprise of statues and blackguards, and when she queried he almost laughed - the situation was so ludicrous, inane, vapid. How do I know you? He’d nearly murdered her, and she couldn’t contain that snippet of memory; how many others had almost performed the same act? Did she always believe she could waltz into disaster and still come out intact? Where did the dimness end? Features still encased in stone, he parted his lips to answer her question, and nothing more. “You trespassed.” Simple, caustic, he kept his cruel gaze upon her, and thought to annihilate her again.




Ascended Helovian

Ophelia the Amaranthine Posts: 701
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.0 hh :: 6 Years HP: 77 | Buff: BULK
Tinek :: Royal Silver Dragon :: Frost Breath & Shock Breath Tamme
#13



Ophelia looked into Djinn's eyes with the open, tender confusion of a child. The normally dimmed and veiled orbs were now an opaque window to her bright and gloriously radiant soul, unhindered by years of tragedy and violence. Had she injured him? The way his eyes seemed to grow darker, ears tilted to the side made her heart ache, and she moved a step closer, wanting to take away that pain. However, just as fast as the expression arrived, it had left, replaced by a wild grin. When he asked her if she remembered anything at all, Ophelia closed her eyes, ears tilted sideways in concentration. She searched the corners of her mind, only finding a blanket of white, more vibrant that the snow. "I... recall nothing; names nor faces," she murmured, frowning.

This was very seriously wrong. Perhaps the beauty of her loss of memory was not such a blessing when surrounded by those who knew her so well. "I see nothing but white. Nothing except my own hooves moving across the rock from the island of blue lava," she murmured quietly, refined features turning over her shoulder to look south. Something had happened on that island. Brows furrowed deeply over dual colored eyes, tensing when the grey stallion, Djinn, asked her if she wanted to know who she was. Did she really want to know?

Luckily, she did not have to decide at that moment. Ophelia's thoughts were interrupted by the explanation the other grey gave. Trespassing? Why would she have done such a thing? Certainly the stallion would have protected his own land; had she expected something different? Obviously there was much more to that story, but she would have to learn that tale some other time. Bright, dual colored eyes gazed into walled and stormy blue ones, and she dipped her head respectfully. "You have my apologies for trespassing," she said to the strange stallion.

Then, she turned to Djinn, resolution and firm desire in her expression, written upon the taut lines in her face. "I want to know who I am." Ophelia's voice was unwavering, but there was still some doubt in her soul. "I should know what you know. I should know how you remember me."




COME TO ME
we run away forever from this misery

tangled-stock | Salsola stock




Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.


Please tag me in every response!

Djinn Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#14
Djinn

No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure.


It would be so easy to deceive this bright little flame of a mare, now that all her walls and protective barriers were gone. He could tell her anything and she would have no choice but to believe in him, because her mind was a slate wiped clean, a sorrowful void where once there had been strength, cunning and a sly intelligence that only revealed what she wished for others to know. To some the innocence of a child was a precious thing to be cherished, a blessing even, but for Djinn it was nothing but a proof of ignorance. What good was there in trusting others blindly, not knowing anything about the world and being dependent upon others for wisdom and protection? It was so easy to end up as a victim of circumstance, a state the handsome stallion loathed.

Ignorance wasn't bliss, it was a curse.

He hated that he didn't know what had caused this change in his friend. Was it something that occurred frequently, had she experienced some sort of trauma that sealed off the event and everything before its occurrence, was it indeed the malicious work of some greater power? There was no way for him to know, and thus nothing he could do to lift the veil from Ophelia's mind. The look of sorrow and confusion she gave him before replying to the question asked pricked his soul like a thorn; for making her sad, for caring about whether she was sad or not, for contemplating to abuse her state for his own high amusement. Since when had he become so twisted, so cruel?

"Alright, I'll tell you" he replied and locked the inner turmoil away behind the easy smile - the mask, painting him for the trickster and fool he was about to become. "Let's go someplace more quiet... I think we've interrupted something here."

A glance passed between the black unicorn and the gray pegasus, recognizing the situation for what it was but not caring that he left someone for further abuse and torment. Djinn was no hero of justice, he couldn't care less about other horses business. Had the mare asked for his help he might've considered lending her a horn in aid, but as it was... No, better take his leave before the black brute lost patience with them. If Osiris had been bad news, this guy was death personified.

The black-blazed stallion turned the head to nudge gently at Ophelia's shoulder, urging her to turn around and head back the way they had come. "Pardon the intrusion" he said again, hoping that the blood stained dove would be interested enough in what he had to say to comply without objection.

Nor is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain.



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