Striking mights and maybes even more

A useless thing called life

It's a biting cold again

( s'cool. <3 I feel a bit bad for her haha. )

As if things weren't bad enough... she started crying. Crystalline tears poured from her lowered blue eyes, drawing wet tracks across her dark cheeks, and for a moment he just stared at her, incapable of action, of coherent thought. He didn't want her to be sad. He didn't want her to cry. Was it his fault? Had he done something? Or was it just the fact that he didn't feel for her? She looked up at him, said words, and if it had been any other stallion she had felt for (or mare, for that matter) he would've told her to smile, to not give up hope... But he could hardly say that now. And yet he couldn't just stand there and watch her cry, could he? His 'brows drew up in consternation, and he was torn in three; to run, to stay, to comfort? He was honest when he admitted to himself to never having been in this situation before, and never having meant to hurt her — he just didn't know what to do, how to act. The blunt truth had seemed best at the time, but could there have been a better way? He would not lie to her, and he could not love her, but did that mean he could not comfort her? Did he need to stand over here, cold and distant, and watch as she wept?

No.

Slowly he jerked forward a step, trying to push his muzzle against her wet cheek as if that could stem the flow of tears. "Please don't cry," he murmured, feeling awkward. He had never meant for this to happen, and it made him feel like a villain, even though he'd done nothing wrong (right?). Would it be kinder of him to run away, and leave her alone? Slowly she worked up the courage to speak, and he stayed where he was, 'brows knitted together and worried eyes watching her face. Her words came out in stutters and stumbles and inwardly he flinched, wondering what he'd done to deserve this, cause this. Ears flickering, back against his neck and then forth again as his willpower warred with instinct, and, again, she said the one thing he had not ever expected. "I-Is it b-because you love her? Psyche?" Something about it was so utterly absurd that he gave a short snort of a laugh, before remembering that it might be inappropriate to laugh when she was crying rivers. Love? Psyche? To hear that word and name spoken in the same breath was wholly foreign and alien, and he took his nose off her cheek to shake his head, white mane rippling.

"No," he said quietly after a moment, stepping a little closer without thinking about it. She wasn't standing still, wobbling at the knees, and to support her came like a reflex. What could he say? I don't love Psyche? Would that make anything better? Was it even true? (flash of white, of red, of spirits falling through and bodies curling together in a golden-and-scarlet glow) He should find something better to say, to give closure, so she wouldn't think it was only because he loved another — that it was for, other reasons. Drawing his blue gaze onto the snowy horizon he took steadying breaths, trying to calm the whirl and reel in his head. How could this all have happened so fast? Her tears would freeze on her cheeks and lashes... "It's because..." He ground his teeth together for a moment, looking for the words and reasons; there was simply an absence in his heart, no flutter and excitement, no warmth. I just don't love you, Leyra. But could he say it? How would she take it? What would she do? Look where blunt honesty got him the last time... "I just..." .. don't love others? Halfway true. How could saying something simple and short be so frustratingly impossible? He kept tripping over his thoughts and words. After a moment he sighed, defeated. Whatever he did and said, something bad would come of it. He never wanted to hurt her, but the truth would, regardless of his intention. He'd already seen that. "I just don't feel that way for you," he finally said, quietly.