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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    [mature]  I sold my soul for this ~Caw~
    #1

    The old hag is growing desperate. Her patience wearing thin. She can not continue to wait. She itches to make a move, to force an action. Hestia is doing everything in her power to keep her kingdom afloat and now that there is time to breath, there is also time to think on her children. They are a nagging thought in the back of her mind all day. Never has she forgotten them, but the itch, the urge to find them has driven her work for the kingdom. It has been distracted and used until she stops mid-step to sleep from pure exhaustion. It had been useful, but each day she spends trying to distract herself from the thoughts that could drive her to insanity. The closer she gets to succumbing to that insanity. Even the stupid voice, a residual effect from being yanked from the afterworld, grows uncomfortably silent. All its snarky comments held back, left to tap on the door to her mind waiting for her to stop ignoring it.

    She’s almost completely forgotten about it, she’s been so busy. So much effort put into quelling her thoughts of her children. She’s in the densest part of the forest, where squeezing between saplings can prove to be dangerous. She doesn’t know where she is going, she doesn’t exactly have a direction in mind. Just an urge to wander. Hestia’s learned to ignore most of these urges, but every so often she must, even if its just a few hours. She spends that time believing that she will never return to the kingdom, pretending that she once again alone with Beqanna speaking as she would to an old friend. These are times that she wishes no one to see her but loves to indulge in whenever possible. The black mare has always been a strange creature, and now with her ties to the kingdom she feels the strangeness that is her.

    Scowling, calculating, the black hag racks her brain for ways to find her children. When a soul disappears from Beqanna most do not question it. It is just assumed that they will return one day. However, her children, they did not disappear. Her tail whips wildly against her hind quarters, no thought to be careful of the surrounding brush. Long silky strands snag on one such bush. She discovers this when she tries to move forward but finds she can’t. A snarl curls her lips, her green eyes leaking the venom she keeps tucked away during diplomatic meetings.

    Annoyed her flames flare out from her consuming the bush in its hunger. She smothers them and the ember in her eyes, leaving only the damage done for evidence. She doesn’t move on though, not so easy at this moment. Looking to the bush that is no more, watching as it withers and cowers in fear and pain. No… it does none of that, it has no reaction, there is no sense of loss within herself. She is brought back to reality, her face icing over once more. This is not Beqanna, her children are not here. She’s indulged in her fantasies enough for the day. Yet, the desire is not quenched, there is a new desperation in her building to find those she loves.
    .

    HESTIA

    The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm
    I whispered back, I am the storm


    @[Caw] Let me know if you need me to change anything.
    [Image: 345k45w.jpg]
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    #2

    She’s had no knowledge of the old growth kept secret. Oh if she had, then she would have never went to Nerine. She may have even forgotten her children. She would have blissfully settled for a life of solitude within the grove clinging to the last bits of her adored Beqanna. At the moment she is caught in her thoughts observing its last vestiges crumble to ash beneath her tail. Its then that she hears a voice. Its dark out, and Hestia is not a night creature.

    She looks around searching for a glimmer of a shape somewhere in the darkness. Hello, Her voice quiet, she doesn’t intend to startle anyone, in fact she’s a little bit sorry that she’d interrupted someone else’s sleep. She hears the chuckle and sees the white separate the blackness to give the voice a shape. Can you bring children back from the unknown? The dry snark is not intended for the white shape, but for herself as her knowledge of this impractical desire begins to wear on her hope and strength. They all know of the ‘unknown’ she speaks of, the place where ponies go when they disappear for years at a time, and sometimes come back long after they should be dead only to find that the world changed, and they have not. She’s been there, and she’s pretty sure that is where her children are at.

    Maybe this is the place that sleeping beauty went too?! If she’d known there were children present, she would not have stepped so near the mare. I apologize for disrupting you. I’m Hestia. She stops once more, finally noticing the appendage that stretches out over a gaggle of foals. Though she can see they are well protected, she looks back to the mare her own motherly instinct kicking in. She studies the woman in front of her, unsure how she would react to being questioned about their home and security. Not as if the mare can’t protect her own, she can see that she can. But wouldn’t it be easier to be among a group?

    The black mare refrains from prying just yet. It’s not her place, the scales glisten reflecting the moonbeams that shift between leaves and outstretched branches. A dance between dark and light, always struggling to overtake the other. Never fully succeeding. She observes the slitted pupils. It reminds her of another she’s met and has grown quite amiable towards. Then again, most of the males she encounters she finds to be worth making friends with… most… She nods out of respect to the mare. Maybe it’s unbecoming for a queen to do so, but she does not desire to elevate herself above others. This is probably the few things that she deviates from the old ways over.

    HESTIA

    The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm
    I whispered back, I am the storm


    @[Caw]
    [Image: 345k45w.jpg]
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