the Rift


wounded is the deer that leaps highest
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#1

for Psyche.

At first, it had been bearable. A nuisance, but bearable. He'd been able to take a step back, smile in amusement as the clones capered and changed, been able to think, it's alright, they change all the time anyway. On some particularly weak days he'd found faux comfort in their presence, but it always made him feel unclean, as if he tainted the memories of their real selves by acknowledging these altered copies. And on other weak days, he toyed with their minds, contorted their image of who he was, for they always forgot. They came back as someone else, unaware of what he had done to them yesterday, or even earlier that day. And when he was swept into the world where he was alone, it was easier to take it, the solitude, except for Irma, the comforting presence which had returned to his mind. It was easier to breathe.

But not anymore. Grass turned to ash in his mouth, his dreams turned into vivid nightmares and he was, second by second, slowly losing his mind. Hallucinations, specters from the other Helovia, came to haunt him, glimpses and flashes of a world he was no longer part of. Those moments of delusional imagination he feared the most, those twisted manifestations of his suppressed longing. He could not control them, any less than he could control his dreams; the only difference was, in one he slept, and in one he was awake.

When you were insane and awake, it was so much more real, so much more troubling — and frightening.

A slanting sun cast its pale rays across the undisturbed steppe, shimmered in the myriad of crystals littering the snowy crust. It was easier to sleep in daylight, to keep vigil in the night and pray that nothing unexplainable happened, and so when the sun had now risen to claim the cloudless sky, he headed for shelter. A constant panic lived beneath his skin now, his breath always shorter, his heart always faster. Irma's meddling had lost its effect, and no matter how much she tried to absorb or hide of his own emotions, she never quite managed to do it at all anymore. Giving a soft call she swept down to alight upon the arch leading into the cool caverns. He tried to reject every memory he had of the place as he stepped into its shadow, but how could he? How could he forget the stunted Pegasus, the equine colt and his dog, the pain as he had sheltered here, Ophelia..? Every place in Helovia had left memories upon him, memories he could not escape, not even here, in this place which was neither life nor death.

Bowing his head Mauja swept into the small cave, pressed himself against the far wall where he could see the entrance. Trying to calm himself, knowing that his owl always stood guard when he slept, he let his gaze slide its usual pattern through the air. Nothing was there, and whispering "I'm still alive," once to himself he closed his eyes. Sleep never came easy, and sleep never came quick, and sleep never lasted long: it was in fits and starts, like drowning, clawing awake time and again only to sink back into the vice-like grip of his mind's chaotic empire.

Slowly, the pace of his body slowed as exhaustion seeped in, and the wind whining outside grew muted to his ears. Doubts chased each other like wordless ghosts through his body, enigmas and dilemmas tearing him in half. He knew who he was (right?), who he should be (maybe?), that what he did was right (it had to be).. all the voices which were never louder than the merest breath in life, shouted at him now that his walls had fallen.

A feeling like drowning enveloped him as sleep dragged him down, the whirl of emotions and questions building to a nearly painful climax, and in the brief moment before his brain slipped off into sleep, the worst truth of his life which only came alive at the moment when every boundary fell away and his mind lay bared flashed across his thoughts before oblivion claimed him.

I have fallen for the half-breed.
Mauja Frosthjärta

Note to self: Nightwish - End of All Hope
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE
RayoDeSoleil
#2
They came to her, sometimes, in her dreams. Their eyes danced behind her closed lids, running rampant across a quiet mind, invoking pain, anger, and perhaps even fear. Not that she would ever admit to that.

It was easier to sleep during the day, when the sun shone easily above and warmth soaked into the land. But at night, the spirits came out to play, and she was helplessly at their mercy. She couldn't remember faces; no, only their bodies. And their eyes, haunting her, full of terror and anguish and some unknown emotion that she could not name. She remembered wings, legs, just bits and pieces, struggling to fit themselves together in her memory. And she remembered their screams, echoing through her mind. In her waking hours, such fear pleased her, told her that she was doing something right, doing something just, cleansing the world of its impurities. But in her sleep, their shrieks were the cause for something else.

The frigid tundra that had served as her home for so long flashed beneath her blurring pistons. Why she had come here, she could not be sure - only that she had come, silent and alone, traversing those caves that had become familiar. She remembered. The Plague had met here, her rallying cry heeded by many faces, both old and new. And outside, on the frozen steppe, Mauja had given it to her, only days before their meeting. He had given it to her and fallen away, fallen... where? Into space? Time? Both? To what purpose? Would he return? Was he dead? No, surely not... the FrostHeart, her once-partner, once-lover - or could she even call him that? - could not, would not succumb so easily. They had been beaten, yes, but Mauja was no quitter...

Or she had thought not. She wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Sure hooves guided her through the caverns, her reflection rippling and convulsing as she passed rivulets in the ice. Even in the spring, they were not melting, not so far north. It was a miracle that the Basin was as lovely as it was, all tucked away, a secret of their own. No, not a secret - not when the impures had been so quick to find them, so quick to take them from their newly acquired home. When would it all end? If she had not hated them before, she hated them now; they had done more, now, than just simply exist. As if that wasn't irritating enough, they sought out their betters, sought to punish and exile them. It was too much. It was unacceptable.

She settled, her maw falling to brush the ground, thin puffs of white flaring from her nostrils, fading into the air. It was cold, but it was bearable. Nothing like that Frostfall that she had spent here. Amber gaze closed, and she drifted into an uneasy slumber.

Eyes peered at her, pain clearly visible in the dilated pupils. She snorted, whirled, and was confronted by wings flaring before her, the wings of a pegasus, the bloody stumps where they should have been attached dripping rather profusely onto the floor. This, too, she turned from - and so it was, a never-ending twirl as she fought to escape her victims' hold. Something brushed her mind, briefly, a soothing whisper. A snort left her maw, and she gazed around, ever-circling, ever-moving. Don't stop or they'll find you. Again, the light touch in her mind called, and for once, she had a purpose within her dream. She surged forward through the darkness, searching, searching, she was always searching...

Something white blurred into her vision, faded out; she turned to it, slowed her travel (though where had she travelled to, really?). Again, to the side: she twirled. It was a form, and it began to solidify. "Mauja...?" The word was a whisper, and for a moment, she felt as though the gods were playing some cruel joke on her. Perhaps in her waking hours, she would remain strong, stubborn, hateful. But here, in her dreams, she could admit it: she missed him.

And, after all, it was her dream, wasn't it?

""


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[Image: psycheicon.png]

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Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#3

He had not been dreaming. Or had he? He had been afloat in a sea of darkness, a soothing, comforting place where nothing stirred, where half-made thoughts rose sluggishly towards the surface before sinking again, too heavy and meaningless to matter. He wasn't quite sure if it had been peace, or just exhaustion, but it had felt good to merely exist in that pool of black water, rocked by invisible tides, held up by something other than his own strength.

But in a heartbeat, everything changed, and he was torn from that quiet place and thrown into a world of chaos and light. It stung his eyes, and with a startled shout he recoiled from it, pressing his lids down to block it out — but it was futile, as it found gaps, ways to crawl in, to sting his sensitive retinas. Noises cracked around him, the keening of the wind, the boom of earthquakes and volcanoes, the crash of waves against a cliff: screams and shouts, worming their way into his ears despite how flat they lay against his thick neck. They rose in a crescendo, a disharmony of sounds, and at some point, his own shout mingled with theirs as the blazing light burned agonizingly into his mind.

And then, it all faded into silence.

Echoes imprinted in his memory lingered for a moment longer, and bright spots danced before his eyes as he rapidly blinked them in the darkness. He was alone again, and the world was blessedly silent, but it was not the same heavy restfulness as it had been, and he was standing upon his own four legs. Rather irked with being so cruelly torn from his, for once, blessed oblivion, he started to look around, but there was nothing there.. until the shadows moved and a voice spoke his name.

He knew that voice. He knew her. Psyche.

He'd dreamed of her a few times as well, and in those dreams, he had done everything from murder her to confess undying love. Slowly, he let his blue eyes fix upon her face, upon what seemed to be exhaustion and vulnerability. She had been running, sweat limning her sleek body.

"Jackal-heart," he answered her, studying her for a moment. What was his issue, if he as of late found all the mares in his life in a state of distress, or otherwise vulnerable? Ophelia had been vulnerable in the fact that she did not remember her old life, a clean slate for him to write a new story upon, and since that dream, he had not dreamed properly — but now he did, and here came Psyche, looking somewhat haggard and cautious. Would she, too, need his protection, for him to curl up around her and shield her from the world? Do I want to? He swallowed that thought as quickly as it came, and merely stared at her in silence instead, wondering if she'd cross the darkness and linger, or vanish just as quickly as she had come.
Mauja Frosthjärta
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE
RayoDeSoleil
#4
Questions and emotions swirled as immaterial as smoke in her mind. Just as she had one within her grasp, it drifted away, shifting, forming, a never-ending dance around and within her. He looked as he had always looked: strong, sure, stoic, silent. His icy gaze roved over her bodice as though remembering, remembering every line, every curve. Was it too much to imagine that he was checking to be sure she was unhurt? Her eyes were doing the same to him, looking, remembering, wondering if he was injured, tired, afraid, anything... but no. There was no emotion apparent in his body; but in hers, sweat-soaked and trembling with exertion, there was plenty.

But what did it matter? It was only a dream.

"Jackal-heart," he finally spoke, and his voice was quite simply as she remembered it. She was surprised at the lack of emotion - where before there had been wariness, pain, perhaps even anger, there was nothing. Nor was he the playful, cunning stallion that she had once almost loved. He was simply nothing. Was this her mind telling her that he was gone? Was this yet another painful reminder that he had been sucked into oblivion, into nothing, away from her, away from his herd, away from everything and everyone that needed him? And so she watched him, keen amber orbs searching - for what, she could not say - devoid of the manipulative facade that she wore so well. She felt young, vulnerable, and weak.

She hated it. She hated that he made her feel that way. She hated that he held that power over her, though she would only admit it in the safe embrace of sleep. And yet, at the same time, it was almost a relief, a soothing balm to fall into after the trials of the day. It would be so easy to admit her dependence on him, so easy to just let him care for her. He already supported her, why should she not acknowledge it? Why not let him do more? She looked down. It was only a dream, only a dream, only a dream... Only here would she give in to her weaknesses; after all, was that not what dreams were for? In the light of day (or, rather, the dark of night, for she slept during the day) she would return to her herd - her herd, not his! - strong, independent, and alone.

But not here.

"Where did you go?" It was a simple enough question, but the feelings lacing her voice, so small in the darkness, were not. There was pain there, hidden beneath an exhaustion that held her in its grasp. Orange eyes were imploring, but they did not hold need; no, even here, in her own mind, she could not admit to needing him. Even so, her guard was down, for what could he do to her in her own mind? The worst thing that would happen would be to wake up, and perhaps even that would not be so bad. Perhaps it would be easier if she did not concoct conversations, if she did not imagine more ways for him to hurt her. Even so, she held onto something akin to hope, and she did not wake.

If she knew it was a dream, then was she really dreaming?

""


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[Image: psycheicon.png]

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Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#5
Congratulations on capturing Mau's 300th. <3


She seemed just as inclined to watch him, as he was to watch her, two predators contemplating the outcome of their meeting — the loss, and gain, of interaction. Was this what she had come to in his mind, in the weeks they had had together again? A beast, just like himself, a piece on the chessboard to be placed someplace with a clever plan backing it all up? Or was it what he wanted her to be, someone he could manipulate shamelessly, and push away to not face the questions which haunted him?

Did he want, did he create, this space between them?

With level eyes he kept watching her, the play of emotion on her face and in her eyes. Behind him, his tail flicked idly, an irregular rhythm of white against the shadows surrounding them. He felt impassive and cold, as if he had shut himself away somewhere. They called him the Ice King and he knew that it was not for nothing — it was because, to them, he was made of ice. But all the little smiles, the wink of an eye and the drawl of his voice contained so much more, things he reserved, didn't share with the world. What would they had called him, if they had known he had emotions?

"Where did you go?" she asked and she sounded so young and tired, so small, alone and afraid, that he nearly broke, but not in the ways that he should've — not out of the near-love which had bound their dark souls together and formed the foundation of their cracked empire.. but rather, out of the need to protect the weak. And to think of Psyche as weak... it was laughable, and he remained where he was, stoic and faceless in the dark. Psyche did not need him. Psyche had a heart of iron baptized in blood, but his was just soft, tarnished silver.

Or was he just kidding himself again?

No. She'd never needed anyone in life, had always taken, but the bottom line still was that what they did, they did out of the love they had for their own kind. If she was truly dead inside, she would work for the highest bidder and spill blood of any kind, as long as the price was paid once in gold and twice in torment.

"I don't know," he told her bluntly, honestly, for what else was he to say? What could he tell his dream that it didn't already know? And what could he tell himself, that he already didn't know? He was lost, but not in the physical sense, so there was no way to find and walk back to Helovia. He was just.. lost, and that was, perhaps, the one definite truth of his life.

For the other truths, he had begun to doubt.
Mauja Frosthjärta

Note to self: Nightwish - Ever Dream
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE
RayoDeSoleil
#6
Silence. There was so much silence. There had always been silence between them, even when their tongues formed words. Had she been blind, before, to imagine that there was some dynamic between them? That, perhaps, once they had actually cared for one another to some degree? What was it that she missed, really? Had she ever loved him? If she had, it had not been until after she had lost him. So, then, was it the thrill of the chase? Did she simply want something that she could not have? Did she even want him at all? The silence pressed in on her anxious lobes, the darkness threatened to overwhelm her amber orbs, fixed solely on him, as though afraid to move, afraid that he would disappear into the blackness, just another fruitless apparition.

He was emotionless. He was always emotionless, wasn't he? Or perhaps her memories of him were simply fading, swallowed up into some immense vacuum of space and time, following their creator into oblivion. She reached for something, anything, that would remind her of the way things used to be; she met no resistance, found nothing substantial to grasp. Was this what it was like to lose her mind? She was drowning, she felt, in the immense nothingness of her dream. She felt only thick, roiling emotions, turbulent within her. There were no meaningful memories, only flashes of moments, sensations, feelings. Fear bubbled in her throat. What was she without her past?

"I don't know." He was bluntly honest, but then, had he ever been any different? Again, she struggled to remember, and again, she lost. Again, the silence pressed in on her; again, she fought the terror threatening within her mind. She wondered, briefly, what she was afraid of, and came up with nothing. Frustration rose, and ebbed again, replaced by anxiety, anguish, and anger again, in turn. One brittle emotion stood out, though she had no name for it. Some might call it affection. She knew of no such thing, nor how to feel it. Yet, still, feel it, she did.

Suddenly, bottled up emotions threatened to pour from her maw. She took a step forward, as though to reach across the chasm between them; thinking the better of it, she halted again, shifting restlessly. "They... miss you, you know," she told him quietly, her lyrics again devoid of their usual lilting, siren-like qualities. "They look at me, and they see an imposter. But when they looked at you, they saw a king. I try to be like you, you know..." She was not bitter, and this in and of itself surprised even her. Her voice sank to a whisper. "I miss you," she admitted, for what harm could it do in her own mind?

""


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Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#7

Each second seemed to span a lifetime, each moment of their fragile stillness an eternity, and yet it was nothing more than a single grain of sand in the hourglass of their lives. His tail kept flicking at odd intervals, something he had always done in life and carried with him into this half-death, and for a long while, it was his only outward sign of life. He didn't know who she was, and, perhaps, it was not only the time which had separated them, but the.. other Psyches interfering. He didn't know, and it felt safer to just watch, to see who she was, allow her to reveal herself. And, surely, it was not the Psyche of his past.. for that Psyche did not wear stress and pain like a second skin, did not have such vulnerability painted on her face like a target for him to hit.

But he wouldn't make that blow, ever. It was not in him, nor in his desires, to shatter her. He could still remember the softness of her touch, of her gentle, tender caress, those feral eyes turned meek and warm. "I love you," she would tell him, her 'brows furrowing in sadness and confusion. "Why are you so distant?" And she'd touch him again, as if her presence could melt him, and he had simply clenched his jaw and looked aside, further hurting her — but he had been unable to say the words.

"Because you are not real."


And not even in dreams, could he hurt her.
And neither could he comfort her.

She started to move closer, but then seemed to think better of it, and he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. It was as if her movements sucked the force out of his, and his tail grew still, a testimony to his attention. Hesitation? Why? What did it mean and why did they turn up like this and- he clenched his jaw and thrust the thought aside. A misguided desire to protect and a profound sense of longing combined. What else could it be? "They... miss you, you know," she said and he wondered, is this what I want to hear? That they missed him, that they wanted him, instead of her? Of course he wanted to come back, to embrace them all again, to see their eyes and faces and watch over them.. but did he truly wish for them to mistrust Psyche, to cling to an old hope of him returning?

Or do I have to face this, so I can let go?
He had said, that he would fight to find a way back, but day by day to end his restless existence seemed more and more appealing. In the hours of night when his mind tormented him, and in the hours of day when his nightmares hounded him, it would certainly seem a mercy kill.

"I miss you," and something within him threatened to break. Groaning "Oh god, Psyche,", he took a single step forward in their well of darkness, but dared not cross the entire distance. Somehow, he was still wary of her, and of himself, and what he might do — feel — when this storm raged within his skull and soul. "What wouldn't I give to return..." His voice drew out into a whisper, hung in the air, and then shattered like a dream, a spiderweb torn from its trees. Wishes, hopes and prayers had brought him nowhere, and with defeat in his blue eyes he lowered his gaze to the floor. "But I cannot find the way."
Mauja Frosthjärta
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE
RayoDeSoleil
#8
"I miss you," she had said, and a part of her hated herself for the futile weakness that she had portrayed, even here. And yet in her weakness she had found release. A soft sigh drifted through the darkness, and even such a quiet noise threatened to overwhelm her. The silence that had been so daunting but a moment ago was her refuge now. What would he say, her dream-King? Would he bend to her will, as her dreams so often threatened to do, or would he diverge from the norm, act as his real self might?

It was difficult to tell what was real and what was not, which direction was up and which was down. If she swam with this current, would she drown under its weight? Or would she emerge, strong and whole, newly reborn and ready to return? And still she waited, watched in a breathless silence, fearing that he would disappear, fearing that he would move, fearing that he would speak... but she wanted him, too, wanted him to say something, anything. What did she want him to say, really? Perhaps whatever came next would be truth, for even in her wildest fantasies, she hadn't experienced this, nor given it much thought. What would happen now that she had shown weakness?

"Oh god, Psyche." His words were a groan, laden with longing. He had taken a step forward, mirroring her own movements, but her, too, stopped. They were balanced on the edge of a vast precipice; one misstep and they would plunge to their deaths below, become lost in the darkness. Would that be so bad? she wondered. Wouldn't it be easier to just... stop... fighting...? She was ashamed, then, that such a thought would cross her mind, even in sleep. She had always been a fighter, always would be. But what was she so damn determined to fight? Surely not the stallion that would have stood beside her, helped her attain her goals. What did she stand to gain from fighting him?

She was angry, suddenly, furious at herself. She had pushed him away, no, ran from him, when he could only serve to better her cause - when he could only make her stronger. When she wanted him to help her. But wanting had been foreign, and so she had sought escape. It was stupid, she realized. I was stupid. It was a revelation for she who was so sure of her actions. She was dimly aware that she was afraid as she forced herself forward, took a few shuffling steps, halted again. She was much nearer - had she really covered such a distance? - close enough that she could almost reach out and touch him. If she tried, would he be there? Or would she only shatter the illusion? She dared not try.

She drew a deep breath. "What I wouldn't give to return..." Was that defeat in his voice? Don't give up, she wanted to say. Come back to us. Back to... me. The words stuck in her throat. "But I cannot find the way." She yearned to go to him, to press her muzzle against his skin, to breath in his scent. She longed to lead him from the darkness, to awake with him beside her. Would it be an illusion to wake up and be granted the only thing she wanted? Was it be folly to think that she could admit to her weakness in her waking life? "If I could lead you home..." Her voice trailed off. If she could lead him home, then what? Would it even make a difference?

""


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[Image: psycheicon.png]

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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#9
( my muse decided to have a sudden "suck" time, sorry. let me know if you want me to change anything. ^^ )


Again, she drew closer, as if pulled in by his own sorrow and voice, a comforting shadow seeking to offer what it could. She seemed so hesitant, afraid, and he wondered if it was his own uncertainty regarding her which dragged at her steps. And again, one pole reversed and repelled, her movement ceasing within range of touch. He brought his head up slightly, allowed his gaze to settle on her face — such emotions, such turmoil, and he felt himself dying inside again.. cooling off. Where she suffered at the hands of her heart he drew back, creating a void in which no emotions existed. It was easier that way, to ignore them instead of examine them. He did not need to feel.. all it did was bring such confusion, such.. chaos. He was made of frost and ice .. he had no reason to feel. No obligation.

"You cannot," he told her, blunt again. They had tried to lead him home in dreams before, but he always awoke before making it, and has since long given up trying. It only battered his heart against the wall even more, never allowing him to heal (which he couldn't anyway). It was less painful to try, easier to just stay alive.

As dreams are wont to do, it shifted suddenly. He did not find it odd, that suddenly they were running, their hooves pounding upon a grassy plain. Shoulder to shoulder, almost touching, the line of unicorns spanned the horizon as they charged, a sound like thunder and a ground-shake like an earthquake. Dust clouds rose in their wake, the tips of their sunlit horns aiming straight for their targets: in the distance, he could see them, a valiant line of others seeking to hold their ground, to calm their soldiers as the doom swept in. Why did they not flee, knowing that death was upon them? Why did they shiver yet hold? They were outnumbered five to one, a weak, pathetic attempt to save the tatters of their empire of equality, but for all their glory and pride they were powerless in the face of the unicorns.

And their blood, would water the earth today.

He saw Psyche's black shape beside him, a familiar comfort in the wave of destruction, and he thought he saw others he knew: faces from the Edge standing with him, the shapes of his enemies taking shape.. was that a hint of red highlights on a black dun? A flash of light on gold and bronze scales?

Their throats opened up in a symphony of war cries, in a promise of annihilation. The distance between them disappeared, the blood pounded thickly in his head, and with a feral roar he swung his head from side to side, the flat of his horn and cheek forcing a gap for him to force himself through.

And suddenly he knew, that they had not come to kill them, but to find what they guarded — and something about it, tied his guts into knots.

But he kept pace with the line.
Mauja Frosthjärta
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE
RayoDeSoleil
#10
And then there was nothing more to say.

She could not bring him home, could not give him salvation. Even if she could, then what? She could not give him herself - could she? And regardless, it was pointless to consider, for one could not bring home pieces of dreams. One could not turn a fragment of imagination into reality.

One moment, there was only darkness; the next, they were running. She was unaware of when she had begun to do so, did not remember having consciously decided to move. But she was running, charging into battle alongside her king. Was it a battle she recognized? In many ways, yes - the faces of the unicorns that she had come to call her own, some from the Edge, others new to the Basin, were familiar to her, and even amongst their enemies she caught glimpses of similarities. They neared collision, set on a course to destroy, and she noted one difference: the bodies so similar to those she had seen before held the eyes that haunted her, wild, gaunt, anguished.

Paladin, or her dream-projection of him, collided into her side; the wind was knocked from her lungs, and she stumbled to the side. Sloppy, she thought, then remembered that it was a dream. But then he was gone, and onward she charged. She had lost sight of Mauja, and she panicked, remembering the flames that had consumed him in the battle of the Edge. She had not protected him then; he had not needed her protection, but she would have given it willingly. Wouldn't she? Or was it only after she had lost him that she realized how much he had meant to her?

And could she admit it later, when she was awake?

She was frantic now; fighting ensued around her, and yet she did not engage any victims, any targets. Once, maybe, the blood-lust would have consumed her, but here, in this dream, it was imperative that she found him. And then, there he was; she caught sight of his pale frame, and a shadow descending from above. It opened its mouth, and she shouted - a peal of flame shot out, towards the FrostHeart. "Mauja!"

And then there was silence.

She had not been aware of closing her eyes, but she must have, for when she opened them, it was the dead of night. Soft, loamy soil depressed beneath her hooves, and the gentle sigh of the breeze caressed her sweat-soaked pelt. There was a pool of water nearby; she knew this without seeing it. So, too, did she know the trees existed, swaying in the midnight wind. She looked around - did he come with her? Was he here too?

In what may have been the strangest out-of-body experience she had ever had, she watched as the FrostHeart crossed the path before her. It would seem that he did not see her. She followed in silence, pausing at the edge of a secluded copse of trees. Before her stood herself, though a year or two younger, less wise, less... weak. Was it weakness? She didn't know anymore. She watched the pair converse, and she was dimly aware that it was a familiar tune; she was watching her memory. And if that were her dream-self and the dream-Mauja, then where was her Mauja?

""


Image Credit

[Image: psycheicon.png]

Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#11

He had expected the shadow of her form to join with his again, for her shoulder to nearly rub against his with each thundering step they took.. but after a second, he realized, she hadn't. He had crashed on through the line without her. She was stuck, in the midst of the enemy, and yet he knew that she was not alone there; others hadn't made it through either.. but that had not been their goal, their task, the thing which they needed to accomplish. Duty forbade him to rescue her, duty forced him to keep going, but it was with a heaviness in his soul. Mauja had never enjoyed leaving someone behind, and it felt as if she should be beside him... and yet, he had never needed anyone. But he had no time to think of it, just to know that the one who should've shielded his right flank was missing. He was vulnerable.

Darkness descended from above, in for a split second, everything was chaos — and it tore his heart in two. He could see, protected by a circle of stalwart warriors, a flash of pristine white and a shimmer of scarlet. He knew those colors too well, and he knew the bloodlust in the eyes of his fellow unicorns. He knew the determined thrum of their hooves, the force of their charge, and in the way of dreams, he knew that they had come to kill her.

But the shadow swept in across him as the realization had rooted him where he stood. Duty had made him leave Psyche behind, but duty could not make him advance upon their prey? As the sound of nearby battle rang out he swung his head up and around, but it was already too late. The shape of her silver dragon, so much larger now than it was in life, opened its jaws and his world transformed into an existence of pain. It scoured his flesh and skin in a too familiar fashion, such an intimate, agonizing relationship he never again wished to witness: and yet he could not escape its embrace, how it danced and crackled along his body. A shrill scream tore from his throat, and beneath the flame seated in his flesh he crumbled, fell, and writhed on the ground. No one cared. No one saw. His eyes were closed, and oblivion claimed him.

Soothing mist bathed his trembling body, and in the darkness, trees swayed to the peculiar sound of wind at night. Still shaking in the darkness, sweat covering him, Mauja peered at the surroundings. He knew the forest, and he knew it perhaps a little too well for his own good — the last time he had been here had been the beginning of the end in some ways, but it was nothing he could fix now. Drawing in deep gulps of the cool night air he began to drift through the forest, a ghastly specter bathed in the moonlight. Why was he here? Was he looking for something — someone? He still remembered the face of her dragon scorching him, and forced it aside.

Voices carried to his ears, and despite knowing why couples sought out this place, he went their way. And, curious to find, that he looked upon himself and Psyche, familiar words spoken in a familiar darkness. Frowning a little he looked at the trees around him, until the moonlight betrayed a sheen in the dark. Ah, there she was. Somehow he wasn't surprised to find her there, another shadow watching something from days long gone. Silent, careful as to not disturb the memory, he walked over to her. "Ah, how things have changed..." He spoke, quietly, once he had come near her; settled easily beside her, as they once had in real life, though not close enough for their flanks to touch.
Mauja Frosthjärta
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE
RayoDeSoleil
#12

Her Mauja. As if he had ever been hers, or ever would be. "Ah, how things have changed..." he sighed, settling easily by her side. It was a welcome feeling, so similar to how things had once been and yet, at the same time, so different. For a moment, she closed her eyes, allowed herself to pretend. For a moment, she saw the way things might have been, had she allowed it. She saw the Edge, a herd spread before her, before them. They loved Mauja, of course, and by extension, her. Perhaps they even liked her, in this dream-within-a-dream. Sno frolicked with the other foals, and was that another foal? Was her belly, perhaps, a tad too round, too taught? Something bloomed in her breast - was she... happy?

The moment passed, too quickly, and something fell away inside her. She looked at him with listless eyes, something akin to longing, regret, pain boiling over, running in tears - were they real or imagined? - falling into oblivion, for even as she stood on solid ground, she came to realize that she stood on nothing at all. She was everywhere and nowhere all at once, and she wondered if it was how Mauja felt now. She wondered if it was death. Was this her own personal hell, where she was doomed to forever relive her past, reminisce on what might have been?

Her tail swished lightly against her legs, and she was dimly aware that it must have touched him, too - it must have, musn't it, for they were so close together, too close... and if it had touched him, then would it not be their only contact in this dream world? Suddenly she longed to feel his touch, to feel anything at all; her skin felt alive with nerve endings, all taught, waiting, wanting some sensation, anything at all... but fear again held her back. Had her banner touched him at all? Or had it simply passed through him, like the ghost that he surely must be? If she were to reach for him, would she feel skin? Or would she, too, pass through him like so many memories, untouchable, unreachable?

She had so much to say, so much that she should have said before, and it jumbled in her mind, thoughts tumbling one over the other, none sticking long enough for her to form words. It was a waterfall, a thundering in her lobes, in her mind - which was it? Was it both? I miss you, she might have said. I'm sorry, formed briefly. Perhaps her thoughts were projected into the silence; perhaps they remained hers, destined to bubble to her tongue and die on her lips. So much to say, so much... Please come back to me...

[OOC | Up to your interpretation - I didn't want to define whether or not she really said anything, so if Mau hears her thoughts/whatever I'm totally okay with that. ^^]

""


Image Credit

[Image: psycheicon.png]

Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#13

It was with an awkward disconnect that he objectively watched himself, his shadow within the dream, listened to the sweet whispering of his deep voice, how it rumbled in his chest.. listened to the husky murmurs coming out of her black throat, and with each passing moment he felt more and more like an intruder, someone who shouldn't be there. Even if he had been there, it did not feel right to watch, not when his heart had grown so cold and cracked since then, and when he doubted the existence of her own. He couldn't even remember the emotion in her hawk's eyes as he spiraled away into darkness, and it ate him from within — to not know. Had she watched with a horror mirrored by the black hole in his gut, or had it been with glee? Had she desired his removal, and smiled as the wind wiped out the last traces of his life, or had she cried out to deaf ears? Absently watching something from his past like this felt like thinking back on his youth. He had had his doubts about the whole thing.. but in the end, a reckless notion that maybe this time had spurred him on. He'd been prepared to crown her as Queen but she had ran away.

The ghastly flick of her tail elicited a thoughtful "Hm?" from his chest, and the turn of one pale eye onto her: she seemed subdued, taken over with the emotions which filled the air around them. Sadness, and suppressed longing. His own mind had slowed, though, caught in the moment of his own callous chill when faced with the passion of his past; had he truly come to this, or was it just his way of defense? To block it out, lest it tear him apart from within? For a moment he closed his eyes, seeking for memories, of their playful touch in real life, the static buzz each time her skin rubbed against his.. and the deadness of his skin now, no expectation, no excitement. Not like each time someone clad in white had drifted closer, how they had touched — never as intimately as he had touched Psyche, but even in the dream it had.. affected him.

He opened his eyes again, sadly watching the black mare by his side. Could he help it? Could he change it? Could he force himself to- he cut the thought off. What did it matter, when she was nothing but a dream, and he nothing but a lost soul in the whirl of time?

"Please come back to me..." she whispered, seemingly entirely alone and lost in her thoughts; he even angled his head to look at himself, to make sure he was still there. If there was just a way.. he'd gladly return to his enemies, to feel their horns lay open his skin and the fire consume his flesh again, just to feel alive.. to see a familiar face, with familiar intent. To come back. He swallowed the lump building in his throat again, blinked the tears away. "I don't know how," he told her again, quiet; he turned away from the memory, unable to keep watching. To remember.. it hurt too much, to know that it was out of reach. To know that it had been real, but wasn't anymore. "I can't stay here," he whispered, uncertain of what he meant; the Grove? With her? With the memory? In the world he'd wake up to? His white body swung around in the darkness, and looked for a way out, but how does one leave the part of a dream which is not your own?
Mauja Frosthjärta

Note to self: Sonata Arctica - Tonight I dance alone
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE
RayoDeSoleil
#14

"I don't know how," he said softly, and the words surprise her. She cannot tell what is spoken anymore from what is her imagination. Is that truly his voice, or is it simply her longing transformed into an image, a vocalization, a touch. No, not a touch - she would not touch him again, somehow she knew this deep in her soul. It was faced with anger, pain, anguish, humiliation... it was not accepted. Somewhere deep within her, she longed for what they had once had to reemerge. It would be different this time, wouldn't it? For she had changed so much, had come such a long way...

But no, it would be no different. They were stubborn, if nothing else, and the call to uphold their respective facades held them immobile, staunchly opposed to any idea of affection that they might could concoct. They would be no more likely to give in to their urges than they had been in the life before this, or in the life after this. Past, present, and future would collide, yielding only the same results over and over. Such was the way of the world, wasn't it? History exists only to repeat itself, time and time again. Why would their history be any different?

"I can't stay here," he whispered, though already the low-hanging mist and the haunting trees - so different here than they had been in reality - were dissipating, fading into the oblivion that they had began in. The darkness once more pressed in on her orbs, and she was overcome with a feeling of panic; she tried to move and found herself immobilized, held in place by the immense blackness. It threatened to drown her, to choke her, to consume her. Something in her fell away, and a roaring filled her lobes - or was it her mind? Again, she fought to move, and succeeded; she fell into the FrostHeart, or through him, which did it matter? She was falling, the last shred of hope disappearing as she realized that she felt nothing, could not touch him, never again, never again-

Or had she, for the briefest moments, felt his pelt on the soft velvet of her maw?

Would she ever know?

She was falling now, falling, ever onwards, ever downwards, on and on it seemed, into a never-ending well of shadows. How fitting, she thought in one wild moment, orange eyes rolling, rims white. She wanted to scream - was it fear? Or anger? - and yet the sound died in her throat. If he was with her now, she was unaware, her pistons thrashing in the air above her, trying to - what? To grasp something? Or to start running? As though she could gallop along the roof of the world... But no. Steadily (or not so steadily, was her descent getting faster?) she plunged on, and other thoughts bombarded her raw, unprotected mind....

A violent motion woke her, and she crashed rather unceremoniously into the melting cavern's wall. It made no difference, for her hide was already soaked in sweat. Wild-eyed, she looked around her, circling, circling. Through the caverns she wove, deeper and deeper, so deep that the chill of winter sent shivers down her spine. Here, the warmth of Birdsong could not touch the caverns; they had remained solids for centuries, and would remain so for centuries more. Stoic, silent - like him, she though, and the pain was almost too much to bear.

""


Image Credit

[Image: psycheicon.png]

Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#15

End of hope.. end of love.. end of time, the rest is silence.

He had invited the darkness again, and it swept in like a tide, carrying them away. Just as he had ever invited damnation and agony, he now again succumbed to the weakness, and the barriers of his mind weakened further as the nightmare crowded closer. It was always lying in wait, just beyond the edges of his consciousness, and as his strength failed when faced with this imperfectly perfect picture of his past, it sneaked even closer. Like writhing snakes of shadows they wormed their way deeper, into his flesh, aiming for his soul — but finding only ice. He fled deeper into the winter of his heart, deeper into his conviction that it had to be right, and some lingering remnant of strength held the ghouls at bay. They continued to whisper like voices from hell, but they did not flood the odd space of darkness in which he and Psyche stood, rooted. Perfectly still. He knew that his heart was beating, but was he breathing anymore?

He thought he ought to say something, that he hated her or loved her or something in between, but his tongue was tied in his mouth and his mind was blank. Words, what are words? He just stared, dumbly, at her sleek black body, the faint movement of her mane, the panic in her predator's eyes — he nearly let his gaze sweep away, though it clicked after a few seconds and it zoned in on her eyes again.

Psyche — panic?

Don't be afraid, he wanted to say, but instead she fell forward.. ever forward.. her muzzle parted his body like a searing hot knife, and a guttural, unearthly shriek tore from his throat, but he could not back away. The rest of her midnight body followed, ripping through his flesh and turning his brain inside out. And then she was gone, as if nothing of her had ever been here, except he was quivering and sweating all over. "Psyche?" he whispered, and then screamed, "PSYCHE!".

But only silence answered him. He had lost her, again, and he was alone, no closer to home, only further away. All the distance and cold of the Milky Way lay between them, and in the darkness he lowered his eyes to his hooves. Irma sat there, and peered up at him with her odd blue eyes, but she said nothing, made no move. No tendrils of emotion reached out to him. Could Psyche ever be so vulnerable in life, as she had been in this dream..? So small, so fragile... He ground his jaws together, and the dream faded. Throughout the day he kept sleeping in fits and starts, though for a long while, he thought he could hear the echo of hoof falls — and whenever he jerked awake, they seemed to haunt him still.

In the end, wherever he turned in his dreams, they chased him, that sound, so hauntingly familiar, so painful to remember, and he could never quite figure out if he ran from them, or to them.
Mauja Frosthjärta
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here


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