01-16-2018, 07:17 PM
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
In a way, Trissy wishes she could be less involved in Ivar's drama - then again, her innards gnaw and gnash on her bones when idleness takes hold. A schemer - a more cunning derivative of the dreamer - that's what she is. Yet even those with the best schemes often find themselves craving an afternoon of gentility and quiet. It's inevitable.
They are different in other ways, however. Trissy was utterly plain, without magic or ability - despite having been born from two ancient queens, there is nothing left of their legacy to bring over with her into this reality. Peccatrice Dea had been normal, too, an Arabian whose most mark on Trissy's character was a risque, watch-and-find-out kind of attitude. And from Kotaro, not the immortality, but the stoicism. All in all, however, their combination had resulted in nothing but what had now become a little black herd mare - for now.
At the sound of an unusual cadence of hoofsteps, Trissy's eyes flutter open. Her head snaps up from its perch on her curled knees at the sight of the mare, who utters an apology and hastily retreats. Groggy from her nap, the little mare almost falls in her rush to stand and stop the beautiful creature from leaving - although familiar with magic, this certainly peaked her interest.
"Wait!" Her low voice thrums out. "Don't leave." It's her way of saying 'I was just about to get up anyhow.' Eyes blinking to clear out the fog of her dreams, Trissy takes a step closer to the gorgeous creature. She smells female, and equine clearly, but fainter - as if she stood leagues away, instead of feet.
"I'm Trissy," Offers the black mare, raising her eyes from the six legs and orange wings to the moth's face. Endlessly interesting, and Trissy hadn't nearly close to enough time to admire. A kind of awe-filled smile curls her usually somber lips; perhaps female company softens her. "What's your name?.. Are you one of Ivar's, too?"
They are different in other ways, however. Trissy was utterly plain, without magic or ability - despite having been born from two ancient queens, there is nothing left of their legacy to bring over with her into this reality. Peccatrice Dea had been normal, too, an Arabian whose most mark on Trissy's character was a risque, watch-and-find-out kind of attitude. And from Kotaro, not the immortality, but the stoicism. All in all, however, their combination had resulted in nothing but what had now become a little black herd mare - for now.
At the sound of an unusual cadence of hoofsteps, Trissy's eyes flutter open. Her head snaps up from its perch on her curled knees at the sight of the mare, who utters an apology and hastily retreats. Groggy from her nap, the little mare almost falls in her rush to stand and stop the beautiful creature from leaving - although familiar with magic, this certainly peaked her interest.
"Wait!" Her low voice thrums out. "Don't leave." It's her way of saying 'I was just about to get up anyhow.' Eyes blinking to clear out the fog of her dreams, Trissy takes a step closer to the gorgeous creature. She smells female, and equine clearly, but fainter - as if she stood leagues away, instead of feet.
"I'm Trissy," Offers the black mare, raising her eyes from the six legs and orange wings to the moth's face. Endlessly interesting, and Trissy hadn't nearly close to enough time to admire. A kind of awe-filled smile curls her usually somber lips; perhaps female company softens her. "What's your name?.. Are you one of Ivar's, too?"
Trissy