Head Down [Psyche]

Head Down [Psyche]

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380

Deceased

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE

RayoDeSoleil

01-01-2013, 10:24 PM

"My Lady," he began, his vocals nervous, fearful. As he well should be, she thought grumpily, but with no real venom. "I... h-he... uh..." A pause, and then the slave seemed to get a grasp on himself. "My Lady, please, it's just the way of things. I serve... I serve my master, and, and he was bothering you." This much was truth. I am not your master, she would have said, but he continued. Why she listened, she did not know; it would have been all too easy to lash out, to strike him into silence. Perhaps such violence would even lift her mood. But she was compelled to stay her will to hurt him.

"It's not his place to bother anyone- anyone higher in rank than him, and especially a u-unicorn as you, because... because... unicorns are so above me..." This, too, rang with truth. Was Valentine really such a simpleton that even a slave had more sense? "I am not even a lowly servant, I am not close, and will never be close to in a thousand years, to being your equal, but he was abusing his equality, his position as unicorn, one of the gods' favoured, by being so. He c-can't just get away with it, and... it's my place to be killed or hurt or tortured for you should it ever be needed."

Very little of the slave's speech made coherent sense, but she felt that she had gained what she needed to know. She took pause, considered her words with care. Irritation formed briefly in her mind - how did Snö manage to deal with such a creature? The shadow-mare hadn't known her daughter had such patience. But then, she supposed that Snö had inherited traits from her father, as well. Mauja. With the recent events, she felt a stab. They could have ruled together, and Valentine would never have been in this position. Nor would she. But the FrostHeart had disappeared, and here she was again, alone.

A frown formed. "I am not your master, slave. Rapha, isn't it?" The question was rhetorical, and somewhat odd coming from her; she would not usually concern herself with such trivial matters, but her mind was admittedly elsewhere. She shook her head, banner with its trinkets flying into disarray. "You know your place well, don't you?" Again, a rhetorical statement, distance audible in her tones. "And your words ring with truth. Tell me, slave, Rapha, whatever it is you're called. Where is your master?"