The cold of winter creeps up on the mouse-grey mare slowly, her raven wings clutched to her side more often than not. She is young, however, and a warrior through and though, so she will not complain. Neither do her triplets, though she is honestly glad to have dumped them a little earlier. They’re hers, and she will never leave them alone, but frankly, sometimes they’re too much - they’re too young, to her, sometimes.

At ten-or-so years of age, she still - again has the body of a young mare, about three years old. Even better, the wreckage of carrying triplets had been undone, which might be the only good thing she knows about this whole regenerating-as-a-child thing.

After all, she started to lack the patience she needed to train her wings and muscles, grow old enough again and again to be respected.

She lacked patience in general, these days.

Ha, fuck it, she always had. Who’s she kidding? Her mom? Hasn’t seen her in forever - her brother neither. ”Fuck that.” she mumbles aloud, then starts a trot. Actually, she understood her father now - save for the fact of creating her in the first place, creating more of them with the same curse-; his life was all fucking and swearing.

Why not? If life is all boring and the same, might as well do as you please. Especially if you’re gonna do it forever.

Her trot bursts into a gallop, a wild run through the woods, dodging trees left and right. It is only when she reaches a clearing that she stops, knowing it to be as pointless as life itself, to try and run to her death. It won’t come quickly, it won’t come painless, and it will inconvenience her if she dies. And only her.

”Fuck you, dad.” She tells a random tree, before sighing the cropped-up anger out of her body and turning to the winter grass to chew lifelessly on dead stalks. Fuck you for this stupid gift of yours, this life that I never wanted, just because your dick was itchy and you needed somewhere to put it.