all of my devils are free at last
all my secrets revealed
Days, months, years have passed her by and she has barely noticed. Time may have never released its grasp on her, but she has never bothered to notice. The young mare known as Divide has idled the time away in easy leisure, whiling away the days doing whatever catches her fancy. Her attention span might be notoriously short, but that simply means she will never be bored.
Indeed, she has rarely ever had opportunity to be. And certainly not today.
Not when time ceases.
The moment that it happens, she is alone in the trees, humming a simple, carefree tune as she watches birds flitter through the trees, preparing for winter, preparing to head south, doing whatever else it is birds do. Eyes of pale gray dance from branch to branch, quiet, happy, careless. Entirely unaware of the vagaries of the changed world that surrounds her.
That is, until the moment everything stands still. Birds freeze in midair, wings stretched in eternal flight. Leaves pause in the midst of their erratic flutterings, held prisoner to a force far beyond their comprehension. A force even the purple mare with the gray tresses cannot understand.
For a moment, she can only stare slack-jawed at the unexpected stillness that surrounds her. Then, she thinks she must be dreaming. But who would dream such a thing? She never has before.
And then time is flying forward, the leaves browning, dying before her, swept away by the merciless hands of time as snow sets in to cover the world in white. Only then does she realize something much more powerful (something much more fascinating) is at play here.
She turns slowly, eyes scanning a world turned unexpectedly to winter, until her sight catches on something odd (well, comparatively speaking, considering the strangeness that now surrounds her). There, in the distance, remains just a hint of the richness of fall color. Curiosity beckons, and, with barely any consideration at all, her feet follow.
The air shifts, changing as she walks, warm hints of summer being chased by the frigid fingers of deep winter. After a moment, she realizes she is following the receding fall. The icy winds trace her footsteps, bringing winter with it. She wonders then if she is following autumn, or if winter is following her.
It is impossible to tell how long she walks. With time acting so strangely, it could have been mere moments, or an eternity of days. Regardless, with no real understanding of the passage of time, she reaches the gaping mouth of a very intriguing cave. Glowing lights dance around the entrance, lighting the mysterious depths of that open maw. Winter has not quite yet reached this place, the indeterminable energy holding its chill grasp at bay for the time being.
After several moments of staring in wide-eyed wonder, she realizes she can hear faint sounds emanating from the darkness of the cave. Sounds suspiciously remnant of screaming. Briefly, she thinks perhaps she is hearing things, but it is soon evident that she is not. Or, if she is, she truly has (finally) gone batty.
Apparently, as evidenced by her next actions, she really has lost her mind. Instead of turning and leaving like any sane horse should, she decides to enter to the cave. To draw nearer to the source of that mysterious shrieking. She might need to get her head checked after this, but first she feels an overwhelming need to assuage her curiosity.
In short order, she is presented with three separate tunnels, each echoing with those eerie cries. For several precious minutes (or perhaps only seconds or many long hours) she vacillates, equine brows furrowing as she mutters softly to herself, ”Left. No… right. Hmmm… middle? Damnit, which way?”
Finally, with no clear choice, she simply selects the left tunnel at random, hoping it is the correct one. With only the barest whisper of trepidation, she sets forward, knowing that turning back is no longer an option.
divide
P.S. Divide would like a trait
