Her father’s figure was unmistakable in the distance. The mahogany winged stallion wasted no time in greeting her, his throaty nicker rushing to meet the soft of her ears. Although she had been born there, Ischia felt unfamiliar beneath the tread of her hooves and the strangeness only added to her contempt. It always had, which was why she had fled the moment the opportunity had presented itself. Keeping her eyes firmly upon her father, she watched as her aura moved to envelope him within the fold of it’s terrifying embrace. He smiles despite her obvious shift against him and his eyes drink in the fullness of her transformation. The question that trails behind her name encourages a laugh.
I have never been better, father.
It goes beyond the realms of his comprehension to think that one of his own could be apart of the deepest of darkness. He asked she was okay, assuming that she had fallen prey to it just as Jesper had. She was not some weak minded captive or slave of the clown, forced to remain at his side for his benefit. Rather, she was the queen of it – the puppet master.
Her purpose there was nothing more than a trifle, an itch that needed to be scratched. Brennen’s opinion of her mattered little to her and his assumptions were hilariously misinformed.
@[Brennen]