bottom of the deep blue sea; malkin

[Isobell]

bottom of the deep blue sea

When the island he keeps on becomes too small for her thoughts and beating heart, she slips from the pale shores of silk sand to dive deep into the waters. It is warm and comforting at first but as the ocean darkens, so does the warmth till it leaves her skin prickled and cold. The painted woman expertly divides the waters with the length of her aquatic form. Thin veils of her fins billow outward in a sheer blossom that could have been mistaken for sea flowers.

Ischia had been her home for some time, one she had lived and ruled, when Ivar was gallivanting with the next pretty thing to allow the hours to pass but he always returned to the cove that kept his prized possession. Isobell's thoughts turn clouded and red as she bristles. How could she have allowed herself to be cowed into such a demure life? The once queen of the Iron Throne had lost her ways and, in time, her thoughts.

Once carefree and wild, she had tore through deer paths and along cliff sides. There her family grew between her loving parents, her father a dragonborn queen's guard and her mother the legendary queen of Nerine, both protective yet loving. She had missed the days the salt stung her tongue and clay caked the white parts of her gangly filly legs. She needed to go and find the shards of her fractured soul, to carefully replace the pieces, of her delicate soul.

Ivar had not been a bad man in the most sensible way. He loved her, fed her and sheltered her. In return she had been bound by her soul on the day he had drowned her and she was reborn but there was always a willful need to drive deeper into the heart of Beqanna for her purpose.

The ocean thinned to the river, the vegetation growing thicker and the sea life becoming more scare, till the pied mare takes to the shore. The last of a failing summer sun warms her immortal form. The forest was not far from the river and the smell of a fresh rain was just on her pink tongue. The sounds of birds offer a melody that she finds her feet moving rhythmically to as she drew deeper into the embrace of greenery. Here she was just as any other equine as much time has passed since she has ruled (thankfully her mother had given her immortality at birth, so the forever fresh face of a young mare was held).

Others were here as well, milling about, some conversing while others tugged at mouthfuls of grass. Isobell feels a small smile tug at her dark lips as she follows suit and drops her own head to the vegetation, the length of her damp mane falling down in salt stiffened waves. The scent of another is not far offer so she offers a pleasant greeting of 'hello' to the other though she does not expect much of a reply.

@[Malkin]