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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


    Who I am, Who I'm not [any]
    #1


    Life was terribly cruel was it not?

    There was no where to go, and so defeated Wichita paid the price of her mistake. What was she to do, the small pintorabian? He had been a tower, a monument compared to her small frame. An attempt to fight back, even if she had made one, would have like done more harm than good. How did you fight a statue? A beast molded of iron, only conveniently having been made into the form of an equine. Convenient for him at least. No, there had been no way around it. She had wandered too far, tested fate far to closely. She had only wanted to better herself, to make a diplomatic visit all her own, to be a useful and productive member of the herd. Instead she had nearly crawled back. Once again, a pitiful, bloodied mess-blood marked backside evidence of the crime.

    And she was shamed.

    Oh, was she shamed. She had done her best to hide herself from the others, she didn't want to be seen, not like this. She wondered if they had even missed her, if they had noticed she was even gone for those few weeks? Probably not, she berated herself as she sulked, the autumn grasses crunching beneath her. What should have been a happy time, did not start out so. Instead of glowing with the thought of motherhood, she felt covered in a layer of dirt. A used up penny left to adorn a sidewalk, passersby not even bothering to acknowledge it. Her wounds had healed, a few more scars to adorn her silver black frame. No matter, she wasn't trying to impress anyone anyways.

    She finally stopped, a bit winded, the child that formed within her had made her ill as of late. Perhaps a drink would make her feel better, and so she dipped her head into the nearest watering hole. A small one, a pond really. Her favorite actually, a few stray wildflowers clung to life on its borders, a frog croaked unseen. She stood for a long while after drinking, staring at her reflection.




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    #2
    In the back of her mind, Osyva knew that her father was gone. She knew that if he were alive, he would find his way back to her: his beloved daughter. Still, she had left the Gates in search of him. Beqanna swallowed her whole, like it does so many others. She found magic in the Meadow, but it was not the same as what took Corvi that day. She found anger, and she found emptiness, but she could not find Him. For a time she wore the world’s cruelty like a scar across her back. She wore shame as if she were born of it. All she had ever known was lost to her.

    In dreams she joins her mother atop the Falls. They stand together, content with the rise and fall of each other’s breath. Stars litter the sky above them, and moonlight illuminates their pale skin, and drips from their chins. Osyva turns to her mother, the entire nebula ablaze within her eyes.

    “Where do we go when we die?” There is a sadness that nearly kills her childlike curiosity, but in her dreams her mother is still with her. In her dreams there is still an inkling of innocence left within her. Osyva already knows the answer to her question. Her father had been snapped into oblivion, and her mother had turned into a fish. Perhaps, you go wherever you want when you die.

    The slow trickle of early morning rain wakes her, and before she can blink she is soaked to the core. Water cuts paths through her mane the way her mother’s river cuts channels through her heart. Osyva seeks shelter beneath the boughs of the Mother Tree, and for a moment all seems right again. She has returned to her father’s home.

    The rain subsides as sunlight peeks from horizon. So long the time has stretched since she had sought the comfort of the Mother Tree. She is, perhaps, a little surprised that the old Mother had not forgotten her, even when Osyva had forgotten herself. She relishes the small sliver of peace that returning here has offered her. But, there is something strange.

    A small dark figure rests along the banks of a small pool, not far from the knoll her father had disappeared from. Osyva nickers softly before approaching.

    “Are you alright?” She asks quietly, the crack in her voice evident that she hasn’t spoken in some time.

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    #3


    She had been contemplating the meaning of life. Her life. Looking past the murky waters so far she could no longer see her reflection. She hadn't even noticed she had been crying, the tears slipping from her muzzle into the water below. A soft rippling upon its surface to break any hopes of seeing her reflection now.  What had she done to deserve this? Was this the price she had to pay for her mothers death? She had never meant for such things to happen, but she was sure she would take it back if she could. Her lot seemed the same, though in only slightly different ways. She wondered if ones fate always caught up with them eventually. She had escaped the pregnancy from an awful deed, only to be given one of another terrible circumstance. This child, born of an offense, she was meant to have. She didn't know how she should feel about it, the predicament she found herself in, was it shameful to feel resent?

    An unfamiliar voice reaches her ears, and Wichita jumps rather taken off guard. A pale mare approaches her, her details blurred through her flooded vision, droplets still falling steadily from her sooty maw. She sniffs, blinking as she finally takes notice of her own state. If she could she would have blushed from the embarrassment, instead she turns her dial to the side, away fro the strangers eyes.

    "Y-yes I'll be jus' fine..I.."but she wont, and she isn't. The sobs that come from such realization. Making the thing feel more real than it had thusfar, by trying to speak of it to another. Her legs buckle as she lowers to the ground an incoherent mess.




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    #4
    fiasko
    She’d never thought that she’d ever be this happy.

    Growing up, she’d thought that was it. She would forever live in the shadows, staying on the fringes of the Gates kingdom and quietly helping from time to time. She would be a forever wallflower, mostly unnoticed by her fellow kingdom members. How very wrong she’d been.

    Now, at almost 12 years of age, she is a queen. A hardworking queen with friends, a family, a lover (there is a strange thrill at that word) and a new baby on the way. She is happy and more excited for the future than she’s ever been.

    On this particular morning she’s taken to wandering through the kingdom, checking on the borders and her old favourite hiding places. It’s slow going these days - despite being only a few months into the pregnancy, she’s already gotten quite fat. It’s not exactly making her look forward to the later months, but she will weather it. This is her and Jason’s child, and she knows that it will be more than worth it in the end. Oh the surprise that she’s in for …

    She’s wandering past a little pool that she knows well, when she realizes that there are two horses already standing there. One she recognizes well - Wichita (the sight of the mare brings a smile to her lips) - but the other she’s never seen before. Curious, she’s about to call out to them, when Wichita suddenly collapses to the ground.

    “Wichita!” She rushes towards the pair, fear pulling her heart up into her throat. Something is very, very wrong. “Wichita!” She reaches them and reaches down to the silver dapple at her feet (stranger quite forgotten), noticing the tears flooding the mare’s face. “What’s wrong?!”
    i'm still waiting for the world to end
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    #5
    Her companion’s warmth feels strange upon her skin. Some time has passed since she had openly sought fellowship with another. In the Meadow there had been many, all strangers, all indifferent to the little golden child that had ventured in amongst them. She finds comfort knowing that she is not the only one that has endured pain. She eyes Wichita’s scars, fingering the grooves where the flesh has been broken. Osyva blinks at the pain in her companion’s voice, knowing all too well the sound of innocence lost.

    The mare collapses at Osyva’s feet in a puddle of sobs and salty tears. She offers a gentle touch of her lips upon Wichita’s silvery mane. She knows that there are no words that could undo the damage done to this mare, and so she lets the silence lie.

    Another has seen the incident, and cries out what can only be the sobbing mare’s name as she rushes towards them. Osyva lifts her head, hesitant to allow another any closer to the vulnerable mare at her feet. For a fleeting moment her ears bury themselves beneath the white of her mane, but when she sees the concern on Fiasko’s face, she realizes that this mare means no harm. Osyva hesitantly steps back.

    She is not sure if she should leave them. The newest addition seems to know Wichita, and Osyva is just a stranger. She has been gone for too long for anyone to remember her. She stands awkwardly, watching the exchange between the two mares, unsure of what to do.

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    #6


    For a time she lets the tears flow, dripping down her face in a salty mess. The pale stranger approaches and touches her gently, Wichita allows it. It was a mare, and all that Wichita knew told her that mares were good, mares helped each other. This one was only trying to help her.

    It is through tear filled chocolate orbs that she sees her leader. The Queen has come to see what the commotion is all about, and rightly so. Wichita can just make out the lines of her form, the familiar black and white pattern making it all the more obvious. She also notes the swollen barrel that Fiasko is carrying around, so much wider already than her own. She reaches them kinda of quickly, quickly enough for a mare burdened with child, she thought.

    She chokes on her words, it is so hard to speak. Her mind is screaming out, and her heart hurts, why does it hurt so very much? It is such an alone an empty feeling, no matter how much you are surrounded by loved ones. Comparable to the feeling of a breakup, one after years have been invested, one you didn't want. There's no love there though, but the pain is the very same. "I-I wanted ta help. Li-like you said, we was gon' be allies with the Chamber, cause they a-are strong. So I thought I could do t-that, go talk ta them, I got lost." Her eyes are huge, pleading, the whites poking through at just the memories. One she was not soon to forget, if she could manage to repress it at all.

    " I d-d-didn't know he could make me. He was too big, he was a statue. M-made of metal, I told him I just wanted ta go to the Chamber, but he wouldn't listen. He w-wouldn't listen." Her eyes flutter, back and forth searching between the two. " I thought  he was going to break me, he was s-so heavy an'...I thought i was gon' die" Her head fell down, maw touching the earth and she sat in silence, feeling unseasonably cold.

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    #7
    fiasko
    Concern floods her at the sight of Wichita's tear-stained face. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. She gently strokes the mare's cheek, trying to comfort her. And then Wichita begins to speak.

    When the mare finally reveals the truth, Fiasko is horrified. A stallion had forced himself on her.

    She’s frozen for a moment in shock. Who would do such a thing? And to Wichita? The silver mare is one of the sweetest, gentlest, kindest creatures she’s ever met. It’s horrible to think that any one would ever dream of hurting her, let alone … well, do this.

    She forces herself to pull together. Wichita is pain right now. She needs her. “Oh Wichita …” She presses her muzzle gently against the mares cheek. What can she even say? “I’m so, so sorry.” She feels like a failure. As a queen she should be able to protect her people, to keep them safe. She should have sent someone to accompany Wichita to the Chamber - if she had, maybe this would have never happened.

    She remains there, silently, trying her best to be some comfort. Nothing she could ever say will make this right, make this better, but she can at least be there for the poor mare.

    Part of her wishes that she could offer some sort of vengeance here. No stallion like that should be able to get away without repercussions. But the Gates is weak. She is weak. The stallion would likely do more damage to them, than they could ever do to him. “I-is there anything can do?”

    i'm still waiting for the world to end



    I am so, so sorry for the horrendous wait. Sad
    Also I've not forgotten Osyva! Fiasko's just distracted by poor Wichita at the moment Tongue
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