11-05-2017, 03:52 PM
Isobell
i'll wait for inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
It must have been too easy for the stallion to let the waters consume Isobell. She had not only been a childhood friend but the future queen of Nerine. Surely, Castile, Nayl and Lior would have dashed off her disappearance with nothing more than a shrug...She can feel nothing but the press of his body, guiding her with little nudges. The water was no longer cold. It invited her beneath the surface with loving kisses upon her chest, throat, and eventually head. Ivar is lost to her and so is the rest of Beqanna as she desires to sleep beneath the waves. Her mind is so dreadfully tired that she does not feel the crush of the water in her lungs nor even hear herself scream before Ivar has let her go. Silver eyes are rolling back as everything fades to black and she can feel the tear in her hide, her skin is on fire and her lungs are burning with seething rage for their depravity of oxygen.
Isobell suffocates slowly and painfully as she spasms and begins to float...granting Ivar's wish.
(tick, tick, tick)
Like waking up from a nightmare, she is gasps loudly and jerks upright. Her mind is throbbing severely as she attempts to orient herself. Where was she? Where was Ivar? The river...? Isobell becomes fully aware that this was not a terrible dream...she was still beneath the surface...but how was she alive? Her heart hammers in her chest but she was breathing...actually breathing. The woman struggles a moment as she is pretty certain she is dead and this was her soul leaving but she can still feel the sting of her crest and there was red in the water...first she moves one limb and then the other...
Isobell is not dead.
The painted mare can feel her lungs expanding despite having felt her own mortality not long ago. The water, though dark, is not cold and she regains control (at least temporarily) and determines the way to shore despite the inky dark. Isobell does not understand what in holy hell was going on but she wanted to be on land.
Her legs are shaking as she drudges onto the shore. She is saturated and there is a fat line of red, red blood spilling down her left shoulder as she coughs, chokes, and desperately inhales air through her lips. Her hair is plastered against her skin and her tail is pasted to her trembling legs as she sweeps her head from one direction to the next. Everything hurts as her body racks painfully at trying to breath and maintain her balance...but wait...
Ivar.
Ivar, pretty as ever, is a bit down the shore line and moving away from the river. "Ivar!" She halfway chokes on his name, the syllables shredding her raw throat. The woman starts to take a few paces towards him with burning silver eyes. Isobell does not feel the small patch of scales that have begun to begun to grow behind her ears and along the edge of her mane and down to where her shoulders lay in ruin by the same very elongated canines at are growing unnoticed in her own mouth at that moment. She is a beautiful sight (dare we say more beautiful?) as she is rather upset with Ivar and had every intention of have discussing the matter of her drowning.