02-25-2017, 07:02 AM
She remembers the big stallion.
It's a memory of childhood, a time only a year or so ago, but it's a memory nonetheless. She spends more and more time away from her golden mother and her muttering strangeness. The way she has that look in her eye, the fever of needing her magic back. Ajatar is unsure what became of the petitioning but she has a feeling - the way most children do - that it didn't end well for the golden mare. She's a recluse now and Ajatar has freedom at long last to explore.
She doesn't do much with it.
See, those childhood memories are pockmarked with the reality that she's something feral. Dangerous. She closes her eyes and sees the look on her mothers' face when she attacked Deimos, the way her grandfather cursed her. And still, deep in her memory, she can see Rodrik and his promises of control. Of power. She feels the call of her blood just under her skin - a tireless call for power. Always power.
She remembers the large stallion, standing a full head or two above her. At nearly two she is lithe like her mother, small and dainty. If it weren't for her scaled legs she would look entirely normal. A young girl, blooming into a young mare, wide eyed and still so unsure of the world. But deep under her skin boils something apocalyptic. She watches Pangea from a lofty position but rarely interacts. No meetings, no greetings, she travels by night and sticks to the shadows. She is like her half brother Covet in this, forever paying for sins he never truly committed.
And the large stallion is there, staring at her.
"Pollock," she says, pulling the name from memory. She regards him at a distance, unsure what he wants. Interesting. The words puncture her memory just as dark and scarring as Deimos' fear or Harmonia's parading. They point out she's different, they point out she's dangerous.
They point out that she's forever alone.
It's a memory of childhood, a time only a year or so ago, but it's a memory nonetheless. She spends more and more time away from her golden mother and her muttering strangeness. The way she has that look in her eye, the fever of needing her magic back. Ajatar is unsure what became of the petitioning but she has a feeling - the way most children do - that it didn't end well for the golden mare. She's a recluse now and Ajatar has freedom at long last to explore.
She doesn't do much with it.
See, those childhood memories are pockmarked with the reality that she's something feral. Dangerous. She closes her eyes and sees the look on her mothers' face when she attacked Deimos, the way her grandfather cursed her. And still, deep in her memory, she can see Rodrik and his promises of control. Of power. She feels the call of her blood just under her skin - a tireless call for power. Always power.
She remembers the large stallion, standing a full head or two above her. At nearly two she is lithe like her mother, small and dainty. If it weren't for her scaled legs she would look entirely normal. A young girl, blooming into a young mare, wide eyed and still so unsure of the world. But deep under her skin boils something apocalyptic. She watches Pangea from a lofty position but rarely interacts. No meetings, no greetings, she travels by night and sticks to the shadows. She is like her half brother Covet in this, forever paying for sins he never truly committed.
And the large stallion is there, staring at her.
"Pollock," she says, pulling the name from memory. She regards him at a distance, unsure what he wants. Interesting. The words puncture her memory just as dark and scarring as Deimos' fear or Harmonia's parading. They point out she's different, they point out she's dangerous.
They point out that she's forever alone.