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Bitterness changed a person.
Hurt by the scathing words and reminders that he couldn't save her, Phaedra had stomped on his heart and confused him so deeply he had been lost for days. Wandering about, wondering what in the world he had done so wrong. Psyche had scooped him up then, warping his mind. Whispering understanding words, feeding off his hurt anger. Now, it was as if two different people were fighting for control in his body. The original Tolio was still the same old mix of lion and bunny, wanting to fix things with Phaedra at the very least. The new side was much darker, thrived off Psyche's words. It demanded that he stay away from her, that she was unworthy. She had hurt him, why should he try and comfort her? He was better off in the Basin, where everyone wore their true selves like a badge of honor. It may not be good, that badge, but at least he couldn't be manipulated. This side was dying to be a full soldier again, to battle. At times it even whispered for him to join the Plague, for hadn't a pegasus been the one to hurt him? It all gave him a massive headache, trying to separate these two parts of him. A constant battle that drained him to the very core.
Right now he was 'original Tolio' as he had taken to calling it. Gods, he was starting to feel schizophrenic! So naturally he had traversed the lands to the most peaceful part of Helovia. The Secret Grove. He needed to relax, badly. As the ever bright waters appeared, tired mercury eyes softened. The stallion felt as if he had aged a thousand moons. Stepping slowly into the water, letting it ripple around him until he was up to his chest. Red plume floating atop it, white streak nearly blending in with the highlights of the sun hitting the water. The ripples faded and he stared down at his reflection. It seemed colder, harder. Somewhere in these past few weeks, ice had replaced the structure of his visage. Trying in vain to protect his fragile heart from further pain. Having a heart as big as the sky had never been a bad thing before. So why was it that what he'd once seen as a gift had turned into a curse? Sad silver irises stared back at him. Soft sigh left his lips, breaking the image momentarily. Ears flopped to the sides, as if he no longer had the energy to keep them erect. Gazing at the horn upon his crown. It marked him in a way he'd never experienced.
Avira's words of spite rang in his head. For simply carrying this horn, would he always be an object of suspicion? For carrying the scent of the Basin, would he be marked a dangerous criminal? Even if he did not reside in the Plague? Were Helovians really so cruel to place that burden upon his shoulders, when he only stayed out of love, loyalty, and a feeling of honor and duty? Wasn't that a good thing? Could they really judge him so harshly when he had never killed, never harmed an innocent, and still believed in equality? Was he in fact guilty by association? Could he escape it without losing everything in the process? All these questions swirled like a tempest throughout his mind, destroying the last shreds of happiness it found.
So he remained, a bloodied statue in a courtyard of glass. Wishing somehow he could turn to stone, Medusa's stare withering him away. If it would eradicate his pain, he would remain in this lake of dreams for eternity.
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My Bleeding Heart, In Your Hands [Closed, Phaedra]
