03-31-2019, 02:12 PM
ryatah
hell is empty and all the devils are here
“Perhaps,” she agrees with an upward quirk of her lips when Heartfire mentions visiting Nerine. “I do miss the beach.” She isn’t sure if she still smells like seawater to others, and if the other mare would think her insane for missing something she had just left. But she offers no further insight, even if her mane is still tangled and course from the saltwater that had dried in it. Instead, she is silent beneath the blue mare’s sharp stare, and if she notices the way she is being scrutinized, it doesn’t appear to bother her.
“Why do you say it, then?” Her sable eyes simmer with amusement, and it is difficult to discern if the once-Queen is truly ignorant to the way she is portrayed to others. As if the scars that decorated her smooth, porcelain-like skin did not warrant any sort of curiosity – the dark mark across her skull from her daughter, the various scars across her withers and shoulders left by nearly every man she had ever laid with, and most recently, the peculiar symbol emblazoned on her hip. Even without the vacant sockets – now filled with dark eyes, a gift of sorts, even if they were not given freely – her body was a roadmap that nearly begged to be questioned and poured over. It’s difficult to say if she pretends to find herself boring, or if she truly believes it.
For just a brief moment, her eyes sharpen at the question she is asked, with a glimmer of confusion reflecting on her face fleetingly. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Her tone does not match her stare, for her voice remains delicate and placid, casual. Her life, and the way it has always played out, is the only way she has ever known it. For as long as she has lived it has been nothing but chaos and mistakes, until turmoil became her peace. True tranquility made her uneasy. “To answer your question, yes.”
“Why do you say it, then?” Her sable eyes simmer with amusement, and it is difficult to discern if the once-Queen is truly ignorant to the way she is portrayed to others. As if the scars that decorated her smooth, porcelain-like skin did not warrant any sort of curiosity – the dark mark across her skull from her daughter, the various scars across her withers and shoulders left by nearly every man she had ever laid with, and most recently, the peculiar symbol emblazoned on her hip. Even without the vacant sockets – now filled with dark eyes, a gift of sorts, even if they were not given freely – her body was a roadmap that nearly begged to be questioned and poured over. It’s difficult to say if she pretends to find herself boring, or if she truly believes it.
For just a brief moment, her eyes sharpen at the question she is asked, with a glimmer of confusion reflecting on her face fleetingly. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Her tone does not match her stare, for her voice remains delicate and placid, casual. Her life, and the way it has always played out, is the only way she has ever known it. For as long as she has lived it has been nothing but chaos and mistakes, until turmoil became her peace. True tranquility made her uneasy. “To answer your question, yes.”
@[Heartfire]