"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
10-02-2019, 09:43 AM (This post was last modified: 10-16-2019, 05:54 PM by Agetta.)
Her story is no different than countless others, she is sure. At least in some ways – she’s another forgotten name and face, another who has seen more than her fair share of the shifting landscape of Beqanna. She had thought that the Gates would be eternal, had hoped that she could return to those rolling hills and the trees that held so much history.
She likes to think she felt it in her heart when it all changed. After all, she was recalled from the stars to protect that kingdom and those within it.
She couldn’t have, of course – perhaps that tug on her heart had been nothing more than old age decaying a little more of her away.
Part of her thought she should have returned to the stars once the lands had all changed and yet here she was – earth-bound still. Not immortal, but not quite mortal either. Just a glimmer of a mare who lived and loved in another age, who had died and returned and been a ghost ever since.
This place, at least, is familiar. It may have changed, she doesn’t recall the exact layout of the Meadow, but its purpose appears to be constant. A neutral ground.
It’s anything but neutral to her, of course – she’s known great joy and great sorrow here and the memories war with one another as she moves through the spring-sweet grass. Her deep indigo eyes are bright still and they scan the faces she can see – knowing all she’s likely to see are strangers.
But, even after all these years, Agetta still has hope that she might see a friend. She might even take an enemy at this point, just to cling to something familiar in this new and strange tide that is Beqanna.
There are so few in this new Beqanna that are familiar to her, but she supposes by this point that is her own doing. She could have assimilated herself better; she could try harder in Tephra, she could forge new connections instead of clinging to ones that were old and capricious.
But that’s never really been her – she’s never really been safe or logical.
Give her the materials to fix herself – a fresh start and a love that was untainted and came with no strings, no deals, and no hurt – and she would cast them aside every single time. Give her a light in the dark, and she would turn her back on it.
And so she filled herself up with the same old poisons, and she let herself be cut on the same blades. She clung to that feeling of tension coiled inside of her chest, and she waited for someone to release it.
Like a ghost reliving the same events over and over, she spins herself in an endless cycle, and even though all she has to do is step off the carousel, she never does.
When she comes to the meadow, she does not look at their faces. Should the scant few that actually know her be here – or be looking for her – she knows they will find her if they want her. The rest are simply background noise.
It’s a flash of white that causes her to pause. A bright, stark color against the emerald of the meadow grass and the sapphire of the summer sky, and at first she half-expects to see one of her own children. When she lifts gaze and finds a pair of familiar blue eyes, she can feel her heart flutter with a strange hope she wasn’t used to. “Agetta?” The name still fits easily on her tongue, and when she comes closer to the once-queen, there is a smile that glimmers across her lips. “I didn’t know you were still here,” she reaches for her without hesitation, touching against her neck. “It’s always nice to see a familiar face, when so many are strangers now,” she says as if her life isn’t full of familiar faces, as if she hadn't slept her way through them and filled her empty world with false romances. “How are you?”
The sight of a familiar face feels like someone as kicked her right in the chest. She was so worried that the first face she was going to see was the one that had helped her construct the walls that kept her away all these years. It was a friendly face – one she remembered from diplomatic visits, from alliances formed.
Her name spoken by someone else nearly brings Agetta to tears – it’s been so long, too long – and such a simple thing is enough to break her in the state she is in. She watches with wide, glittering midnight eyes as Ryatah comes towards her, fighting these embarrassing reactions threatening to bubble up within her. Still, she cannot help the way her breathing hitches just as Ryatah’s muzzle connects with her skin.
“Ryatah.” The name rushes out of her as a sigh, barely audible and gentle as she returns the touch – her muzzle ghosting along the neck of the other white mare, as though to convince herself that this was really happening.
This greeting is probably far more familiar than they ever got in their other lives, but here’s a mare who shares some of her past and that connection is enough for Agetta. It solidifies something within her.
“I don’t know how to answer that question.” Agetta laughs sadly. “Better now, though.” Her smile warms, so unbelievably appreciative of this warm welcome. “I’ve been wandering, trying to get away and failing. Beqanna always calls me back but I feel like… like I’ve been a ghost. Like I’ve been half-dead for so many years.” She’s been so disconnected from Beqanna for so long, so incapable of moving on to anywhere else. Whether it’s another land or back to the afterlife where she’s increasingly feeling like she belongs.
A heartbeat later and she feels a little embarrassed about this jumble of thoughts she has shared so she attempts to turn the conversation around a little bit. “How about you? What’s it like, living here now that things have changed once more?”
She knows too well what it feels like to be a ghost.
She has been a ghost, literally. She has been dead and lost in that eternal expanse of nothing, like an empty, dreamless sleep, more than once. She remembers that disorienting feeling of her heart suddenly jump-starting in her chest, that startling feeling of what blood rushing through dead veins felt like. Even when life had been breathed back into her after the catastrophe, she doesn’t remember struggling to fit back in. It was like waking up, and Skellig was there, and they picked up where they left off, even though their world had been destroyed.
But coming back here after being away for so long – to new lands and new faces and new magic – was somehow more alienating than returning after being dead. Everyone was a stranger, and she did not understand why the land was entirely changed, and why these kingdoms had strange names and so many generations had passed that she did not recognize a single name.
Being a ghost while being alive was far worse than being dead, she decided.
“I know that feeling,” is how she answers, with a small smile, but there is no sorrow to be heard. She has long since shook away the unease at being back. She has had years to develop a new normal – which was, of course, far from normal. “It gets easier, and there’s more familiar faces floating around than you’d think.” It doesn’t occur to her that her and Agetta might have a different idea of familiar faces. Agetta had always lived in the Gates, and save for when she was briefly queen of the Dale, Ryatah had always made her home in the Valley. Their circles mixed about as well as oil and water, but for now that is lost on her. “I’ve been living in Tephra. It’s nice enough, I suppose.” She does not elaborate that she is hardly there, that mainly it is used as a safe place to birth her children and raise them until they are old enough to not be entirely defenseless. Her political side had all but disappeared, and there wasn’t much in this new Beqanna that could stir it to the surface. “The magic is different, too. There’s….more of it. And it’s everywhere.”
Ryatah
even angels have their wicked schemes
@[Agetta]
so basically what she's saying in that last line is, "these damn millennials."
Agetta doesn’t think about how her and Ryatah might not consider the same faces familiar, or that they might not even find the same faces comforting – she just appreciates the idea that there are other old souls here. She hasn’t interacted with many of the younger generations yet, but even just being near them is somewhat exhausting. They are so impossibly young, and there’s so many bright colours.
Looking at them, even from a distance, helps her feel like the ghost she is. They feel like a species entirely separate from the world she once knew.
When Ryatah explains that magic is everywhere now, Agetta can’t help but glance around. As if she could see evidence of it – but she supposes that the changed landscape is evidence enough. Was that Beqanna itself, who had proven to be a fickle entity in the past, or were there magicians out there capable of shifting the entire landscape? She can’t say she’d be entirely surprised.
Is there anything that this place could offer her now that would be truly surprising, after what she had seen?
When she looks back to the near-black eyes of the other mare, there’s a ghost of a smile. “That sounds… daunting.” Agetta remarks with a small, light laugh. “I haven’t had many good experiences with magic in the past.”
