03-13-2019, 10:06 AM
ryatah
hell is empty and all the devils are here
There is something quiet but fierce that she observes in the other mare, her own almost-back eyes settled on her face. She can see the way she looks at her, though she isn’t sure what she sees. She doesn’t know what she must look like to strangers, now. Before, when nothing but hollowed sockets sat dark and scarred where eyes had been, she had many assumptions of what they must be thinking — pity, intrigue, perhaps a sort of morbid fascination. There had been a time when everyone had known the how and the why, and they didn’t seem to mind when she stood too close, when she would lay touches against their skin to anchor herself to something solid. And even permanently trapped in darkness, she had never felt afraid.
Now, there is so little that stands out about her. Plain and white, with sable eyes that have seen so much and somehow hardly anything at all. She feels smothered by the shadows more than she ever had when she was blind, and even when her eyes stare out into the brightness of the world, she feels more invisible than she ever had; as though she can now see the way everyone looks past her.
“Heartfire,” She repeats, and there is something warmer in her voice when she says it, something seeming to alight in her somber eyes. With a name to attach she is no longer a stranger— not to her, at least. “I haven’t been to Nerine yet, but you smell of the sea.” It doesn’t remind her of the beaches of Beqanna — not at first. It makes her think of her home before this, before she had even met the albino stallion that would dictate so much of the course of her life. It was perhaps the only time she had ever been innocent.
Curious, she says, and it sparks a lilting laugh from her tongue. “You’re not the first to say that.” Everyone seems to be able to see beyond the tranquility she displayed on the surface. She wonders, then, if Heartfire can see what he, and others, could see — or feel. That indescribable need to feel broken to feel alive, to be shattered so she could piece herself back together. She didn’t know how to do anything else but fall apart. “I’ve never understood why.” Here, she tilts her delicate head, inquiring in her soft, but knowing way, “Perhaps you can enlighten me.”
Now, there is so little that stands out about her. Plain and white, with sable eyes that have seen so much and somehow hardly anything at all. She feels smothered by the shadows more than she ever had when she was blind, and even when her eyes stare out into the brightness of the world, she feels more invisible than she ever had; as though she can now see the way everyone looks past her.
“Heartfire,” She repeats, and there is something warmer in her voice when she says it, something seeming to alight in her somber eyes. With a name to attach she is no longer a stranger— not to her, at least. “I haven’t been to Nerine yet, but you smell of the sea.” It doesn’t remind her of the beaches of Beqanna — not at first. It makes her think of her home before this, before she had even met the albino stallion that would dictate so much of the course of her life. It was perhaps the only time she had ever been innocent.
Curious, she says, and it sparks a lilting laugh from her tongue. “You’re not the first to say that.” Everyone seems to be able to see beyond the tranquility she displayed on the surface. She wonders, then, if Heartfire can see what he, and others, could see — or feel. That indescribable need to feel broken to feel alive, to be shattered so she could piece herself back together. She didn’t know how to do anything else but fall apart. “I’ve never understood why.” Here, she tilts her delicate head, inquiring in her soft, but knowing way, “Perhaps you can enlighten me.”