When one walks through the forest, even in the dead of Frostfall, one might naturally see a vivid array of color, something they would take for granted. Upon the ground, for instance, there might be a thin layer of white - snow, of course. But it's not just white, you see. In the shadows, there might be blue reflected from the sky; in the brightest areas, there might be a glint of yellow from the sun. Somewhere you might see darkness reflected from the greys and browns of the bare trees. All of these hues combine and melt together to create the appearance of snow and the illusion of white. Perhaps just anyone would not recognize precisely how intricate such a scene is, but I do.

When I walk through the forest, even in the dead of Frostfall, I am bombarded with a vivid array of color. But unlike you, my vision is marred by sound. To my right, an icycle hangs from a tree limb; it cracks in the heat of a nonexistent sun and tumbles to the ground, a sudden explosion of black, there and gone, just a spot in my vision, and then a tumble of browns of varying size and intensities, a fluctuating wave that moves across my vision as though it has a spirit all its own. To the left, a small brook has remained miraculously unfrozen, and the bubbling water leaves a trail of teal across the landscape. It morphs and turns, like a bauble caught in the wind, dancing in place before skittering to one side in a particularly strong gust, twirling back to center and then off again. When I was younger, it fascinated me, but I do not allow the distraction to break through anymore.

Though I cannot remove these colors from my mind or my sight, I have mastered the ability to see around them, and so I wander through the woods with ease. The trees are barren, of course, as is fitting for the season, though one can hardly tell, for they blend with the moonless sky. There is little of note, for the birds have migrated south for the winter, and many other creatures are currently in hiding. It saddens me, for bird song is one of the truly beautiful auras that I see. Robins, for example, have an orange-red hue, brilliantly saturated; mockingbirds call in a brilliant green, lighter than the grass. There are others, of course, that sing in bright yellows and dark blues, a cacaphony of color that leaves me in awe. I may not be the most emotional of faes, but I can certainly appreciate beauty, particularly in the eerily dark, forsaken landscape that I find myself in now.

Seele is somewhere in this land, I know she is. I will find her, and when I do I will not allow her to escape me. I care for her, you see, for she is my half-sister, and I am afraid that I have wronged her in the past. Not on purpose, no, but I have done it nonetheless. Perhaps through my presence, I can help to heal that hurt. Perhaps I can atone for my sins. Schwere trained both of us into the same lifestyle, but it would seem that Seele has taken to his teachings much better than I; I have seen her abilities, her ruthless violence. I, on the other hoof, have deviated to a more healing lifestyle, both literally and figuratively. I can only hope that it will serve me well in this land.

"Talk talk talk."

There is no fear in me, not yet, for there is nothing but the not-quite-silence of the forest to keep me company. The hues and shades of brown and black and, every now and then, a splotch of brilliance keep me company, though I wonder in solitude. It is odd, perhaps, that I would assign colours such personality, but as it is their nature, their very being that is shown to me, I feel that it is apt to do so. As much as my deceased loved ones, my colours are my companions, and are significantly more comforting than the former accompaniment.

A quick look around through lavendar eyes shows me nothing amiss through the dull throbs of earth tones that blossom in my vision. The browns are for hoofbeats, or for the squirrel scurrying up a tree, or for the gentle thuds of a deer bounding by. The shades vary, of course, and vary widely: my own muffled noises of movement are cocoa, very dark, very staccato, and very predictable; the squirrel, though, is coloured in amber and bronze, a lighter hue, and has a more sporadic trajectory across my vision. A deer's leaps might produce a chestnut hue, rising and falling and strengthening and fading with each new surge. They are all noises from similar causes - movement - but the difference in their sources creates a wide range of shades and hues, though the tint remains the same.

My colours, then, are my blessing and my curse, depending on who you ask. I suppose they are really quite relevant to the bigger picture of who I am - they do not interfere with my ability to fight, though they do assist my ability to heal. Such is my life's story. Schwere wanted me to be a fighter, and I fought, but I never loved it as he wished for me. I never wanted it as he did. Weakness, he called it, though Verletzt called it strength. How confusing it had been, when I was young, to have such different sides clashing all the time. Back then, my gift had been my anathema. Now, it is my salvation.

I am not particularly easy to startle, for Schwere had beaten such delicacy out of me. I do not enjoy killing, but nor do I fear death. I do not want to cause pain - in fact I desire quite the opposite - but nor do I fear its infliction. There is little in this world that can bring about surprise or distress, but then I have never been as reactive or volatile as those around me. Perhaps it is a learned distance, or perhaps it is simply as my colours are: something I was born with. Perhaps it is my sensitivity to sound that causes me to be so in tune with the world around me, or perhaps it is the fact that I am so aware that brings me the colours. In any case, I hear a soft movement, a gentle flutter of mahogany, and I don't think much of it. I know that it is there, though I don't know what it is.

And so when a rather poisonous voice emanates from the shadows behind me, blossoming in a dark, deep orange-red across my sight, I do not find myself frightened or even startled; no, it is the owner of the voice that brings a shock. I have been looking for Seele to atone for my sins on her behalf, but I never imagined that she would appear right in front of me.

Well, that was easy.

I have turned to see her, and the sight of the source of the vermillion voice brings wide eyes and a snort of surprise. Her voice is melodic, though it speaks volumes of the deadly, wicked witch before me. Cinnabar tones continue, inquiring as to my reason for visiting this realm, and I am momentarily silent as I attempt to make my vocal cords function again. Her colour has slashed my vision, shredding in indelicate tears over the form of her body, but still I can make out the white mask, the crimson markings. It is her, and I do not know if I ought to be glad or afraid.

Light blue swirls up from my left, and I pin my auds momentarily, guilt trickling through my soul. A quick glance shows that Liebling has appeared, and her sadness with her. She sways gently from side to side, as though attempting to rock herself into a state of relief, though I know that she will not succeed. Her lips move, but I cannot hear her; still the aqua shades of her voice slide in gentle waves across my vision, similar to the brook I heard earlier, or perhaps the waves of the ocean. It would be soothing, I'm sure, and I begin to understand Seele's fondness of her, although her appearance brings me nothing but regret. "Tell her," she seems to say, and it swirls around my mind in conjunction with her colour.

The crimson splatters follow, reminding me of what death looks like in Schwere's eyes. To my right, Unheil paces, his voice radiating in violent bursts across my vision, growing and morphing until it takes up the majority of my sight. Thre is no mistaking his intentions, no wondering what he might be saying or thinking. "It is time," I imagine him saying. "It is time to answer for your wrongdoing." I'm sure I look quite insane, looking to and fro between the two for a moment before I can begin to think of answering my half-sister, but perhaps she will not tire of my silence and kill me even after all the hard work I put in to follow her here.

She does not know I exist, and I doubt it is the right way to tell her. Not only would she scoff and leave me, or perhaps even kill me just for sport, but if I were to mention Liebling, she would murder me for certain. There is no option but to ignore the pair visible only to me and simply act as though nothing is amiss. Perhaps I can gain her trust, that one day I might be able to tell her the truth. Today, though, is not that day. "I'm sure that my intentions are much the same as anyone else's," I tell her, resisting the urge to call her sister. "I seek a place to rest my weary head, and to avoid the persecution of those who do not understand me." It was a hint, nothing more, that perhaps I was not all right in the head. Perhaps it would be enough.

"Talk talk talk."

1119 words
@[Seele]

Why should I worry for my appearances when I know full well that my half-sister claims no sanity? Of course she would take my bewilderment in stride; of course she would view my panicked glances back and forth between my invisible little pair of consciences as normal. Their colours have all blended together, though not in the way you might think: rather than fading delicately into one another until there is only one hue where once there were three, they remain strictly separate, though they intertwine relentlessly around one another until I can no longer tell which is real and which is a figment of my imagination. The burnt orange of Seele's lyrics whisper through the crimson of Unheil's silent screams, and both are heavily contrasted by the gentle blue that Liebling brings.

Sure enough, she picks up on my dilemma quickly enough, though I fear my hesitation might have made me appear less than worthy of her time. It is not my wish to find her only to lose her, for even if I never share the truth of our situation - for it is indeed our situation, and has been since my unfortunate involvement with Liebling's death - I will spend the rest of my life attempting to make it up to her. I simply cannot bear the thought of being turned away when I have only just found my prize. With my increased anxiety, Unheil's actions grow more and more violent: his form rears, paws the air, and then paces at a brisk, angry trot back and forth beside me. He grows nearer, and though I know his phantom figure cannot touch me, I must resist the urge to shy away. I am not entirely sure that my almost-flinch will go unnoticed, but perhaps it will only prove my lacking mental stability.

On my other side, the light blue of Liebling has grown, if anything, more stoic. Her form, interlaced with her colour, sways gently back and forth, almost to a rhythm, as though doing so will keep her grounded and calm. Perhaps there was more to the little mare than I had known at the time, though of course my knowledge of her had been sadly short-lived. What Seele had seen in her, I will likely never know; all I know is that Liebling was of the utmost importance to her. The loss of the fae had driven my half-sister to murder, though that is admittedly not the most difficult thing to do. My attention is drawn back to Seele, though, more because of the vermillion that blossoms in my vision than the actual sound of her vocals. "A little crazy is perhaps an understatement," I admit softly, my quiet chords a stark contrast to Seele's poisonously honeyed tones. "I am Reizend. A home would be much appreciated."

"Talk talk talk."

472 words
@[Seele]

I do not know why I feel the need to prove my affliction, if one can call it that. It would be clear to anyone that there is more at work in my mind than simple thought and response; no, I would say that it is obvious that I see what is not there to everyone else. I must admit that I do not see my particular form of insanity as a problem - in fact, I almost pity those that cannot see as I do. Why would I want to give up the beautiful colours that array themselves so elegantly across my vision? Why wouldn't I want to see the rainbow that exists in everyday life? Would I give up the spirits? Perhaps. But they, too, serve their own purpose, and though I am at times afraid of their meaning, I do not see the point of a life without them.

Perhaps, one day, I will come to know the nature of Seele's diseased mind, but for now her disorder remains elusive. She smirks at me, though, and mentions the penalty of death for any who would desert her. What she does not know is that I would not dare leave her side once I earn my place there, but I cannot say as much to her. Instead, I seek to prove myself. Placing a cool smile upon my own face and eliciting another fit of crimson from Unheil's form, I say, "A fitting home for the deranged, I daresay." I am not afraid of the dead - or at least not their bodies. No, I carry my own ghosts. My closet full of skeletons resides inside my mind, frequenting my vision in a brilliant display of colours.

She turns from me, her tail brushing against her legs. The orange-red of her lyrics fades from view, though the swish of hair against her hocks brings forward a faint hint of it once more. Hoofbeats, though muffled, show as dull brown beats; they double when my own add to hers. I follow her from the forest of the Threshold, counting my blessings for finding her so quickly, but also lamenting the fact that I cannot reveal the truth. Unheil's crimson and Liebling's blue follow me, interlacing strikes in addition to the brown. Ah, my prism. How would I survive without you?

"Talk talk talk."

391 words
@[tag]