10-26-2019, 11:45 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Old+Standard+TT' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .agetta_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: #faf7fa; width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 2px #5e6167; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .agetta_container p { margin: 0; } .agetta_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .agetta_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 550px; margin-bottom: -100px; border-left: solid 1px #5e6167; border-right: solid 1px #5e6167; } .agetta_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #5e6167; padding: 25px; } .agetta_name { position: absolute; z-index: 10; bottom: 5px; left: 180px; color: #5e6167; font: 30px 'Old Standard TT', serif; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 20px; opacity: 0.7; }</style> <center> <div class="agetta_container"> <div class="agetta_text"> <p class="agetta_message"> Others come – she recognizes Kensley, and a soft smile appears in her eyes. But it does not last long - she freezes when a familiar form joins the growing crowd. The grin that Atrox gives her causes such an overwhelming rage to flash within her that a deep, malicious growl escapes Agetta in response. It is certainly not the noise of a horse, but from another one of her shapes – evoked by her anger, her hatred. There have been a lot of awful things to happen to this small white mare in her lifetime, and he certainly was not the first – but it is not difficult to trace this stage of her life back to him.
She would not even be here, standing in this white once-dead form, if it had not been for him. She would still be in the afterlife, be reunited with her love. Be at <i>peace</i> and all of the nightmares that have happened since she crashed back to Earth to balance out <i>his evil</i> would not have happened.
Surely, she shares some of the blame – there isn’t a day that goes by when she doesn’t hate herself for not being strong enough to fight him off of her, for not being smart enough to take their son and hide him away so Anaxarete could not steal him away to the Chamber. For not being good enough to win Abner back with her love. For being weak and stupid and falling for trap after trap of the shadow mare. She has spent lifetimes hating herself for all of her shortcomings – it’s refreshing to have another face to direct her loathing towards.
Another form slides between them, and Agetta is so angry that it takes her a moment to recognize her friend. But the other mare’s presence does nothing to sooth her - she’s furious at Ryatah for playing the peacekeeper, as though every pound of flesh that Agetta could carve from the black stallion wasn’t well deserved, but she does not shove aside her friend to get at him.
Not yet, anyway.
Her attention isn’t so much diverted as it is divided when the ghost-mare begins to speak, explaining why they have all been called here. It is only, finally, when the mare says that they will be able to travel to the afterlife – will be able to see and talk to their loved one – that the anger rushes out of Agetta as though someone had pricked her and she deflated within an instant. A tremor goes through her
She has died and returned before, so the going does not frighten her. What frightens her is what she will find. Her insecurities bubble up within her until she is choking on them. What right does she really have after all these years to go and bother him in the afterlife? Is it even possible for there to be a tether of love existing between them? Agetta does not remember if those in the afterlife can watch those still living, but she finds herself hoping there is no such power. She cannot stand the idea of Plume seeing how far she has fallen, how much she has failed since she has returned to life.
But fighting her insecurities is nothing new. Of course she will go.
Agetta takes a single step and pauses, her gaze flicking momentarily to that adversary of hers. One of a set. “If you need some assistance getting into the afterlife, Atrox, I’d be more than happy to give you a push.” She hisses through clenched teeth, and though she certainly means it (preferably with a more permanent ending than a short trip), her attention isn’t fully on him any more. The anger is there, always there, but it slides off of her like rain now. There are too many other emotions swirling like a tempest within her she does not have room for that fire at the moment. She’s already moving forward again, her heart hammering so loudly within her she can’t even hear the noise of her own hooves on the sand or the crash of the waves.
When she is through the gap, she is slammed with two realizations.
That returning to the afterlife feels <i>good</i> and she is only very distantly uncomfortable with that fact. Agetta knows she should be more disturbed by this realization but she cannot manage it. She does not think she is ready to return permanently, but… she knows this place. She’s spent time here before. Knows the sensations, or lack thereof, and cannot find any discomfort.
And the second thing that hits her like a bolt of lightning - this is the Gates.
The rolling hills are awash in moonlight and there are so many stars above her that Agetta feels dizzy with their presence. It’s her home at her favourite time of night, the night sky she has hazy memories of from her last death. The feather she carries, now in her mouth, heats when she turns her head a certain way so she moves. Now that she is here, she moves more easily. There are no more hesitations, just small alterations to her path depending on where the feather leads her. She’s lost in her thoughts, remembering memories on every hill and beneath every tree she sees.
“You’ve come back.” His voice is as gentle on her ears as the starlight is on her back but she almost buckles with the weight of the emotions she feels when she turns and sees him.
This is not the pseudo-Plume she had enjoyed a brief reunion with in the meadow years ago, Anaxarete in a cruel disguise, but the real thing - her king, her friend, her lover. Now that she sees him, she cannot believe she was fooled by the falsity. How could anything created by that twisted mare recreate the lines of the face before her, the eyes looking at her with a smile that will be her downfall?
“Plume.” His name escapes her as nothing more than a whisper, and she, finally, cannot bring herself to move any more. The feather she has carried all this way falls from her mouth and all she can do is just <i>stare</i>, even her thoughts have stalled out. He seems to sense this and a small chuckle escapes him and he closes the gap between them. First, he stops to pick up the feather she had dropped. She is certain that she can feel her heart break when his dark muzzle ghosts against her neck, burying into her mane to stick the feather there.
This is too much.
She doesn’t deserve the happiness swelling with in her.
“Hey, Agetta.” His smile can be felt against her skin. It must be a trick of her mind, she’s not sure it makes sense that she could feel his touch, but when he pulls away from her she misses the ghost of that feeling. He does not retreat far, however, and their muzzles bump gently together. “You’re a lot whiter than the last time I saw you.” And she cannot help but laugh, shaking her head. Of course it was true - she was a black mare, dark as the night sky, the last time he had welcomed her into the lands of the dead. The laughter feels wonderful but it falls quiet and he looks at her and sees why instantly. “You’re not here to stay this time, are you?”
“No.” And, again, though she says no there’s no real conviction behind it anymore. That warring of desires is rising and she can no longer recall any arguments for her to return to the world. It would be so easy to just stay here, wouldn’t it? She has been feeling like a ghost ever since she returned to Beqanna and this could make it permanent. She could just stay here, living beneath the stars in the Gates forever until she fades away from memory. But she tries to focus, tries to remember why she is here - because she’s going to need his help. She remembers that much. “A… a ghost called us, to help…” Her rational brain finally breaks before she can explain what she is there for. She steps forward until she can press her head against his neck, feel the tickle of his feathers as he unfurls one of those beautiful limbs to drape it across her trembling back.
“Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” She sobs into him, overwhelmed by this experience even though it has only just begun. They haven’t even gotten to the reason she’s here, haven’t helped the ghost with whatever she needs done. It’s only making her feel more fractured, more disconnected with herself and with the world. If she leaves this place, if she leaves <i>him</i> again, how much of herself will she be leaving behind this time? Sure, if they accomplish what they need to she’ll be able to talk to him once a year.
Standing here with him, she does not think that will be enough.
Her first death was so violent, so random, she wonders if choosing this is a fitting second death. As peaceful as stepping through a doorway into her beloved Gates, stepping into the embrace of someone she loved. “Would I be awful, if I stayed?”
“No.” It’s a simple syllable and yet so reassuring. Or, it would be - except even before he says it Agetta swears she can feel the next word coming out of him. “But… I don’t think it’s time for that.” She has been expecting some form of rejection from him but it still stings. She pulls back so she can look him in the eyes. They’re kind, softening the blow - easing the ‘he doesn’t want me here’ thoughts whirling through her mind, though she knows she doesn’t deserve his love. Knows that it probably only exists because time doesn’t exist here in the afterlife so it cannot rot.
And she certainly doesn’t deserve the brush of his muzzle against her cheek as he whispers the next words.
“Not yet, anyway.”
</p> </div> <div class="agetta_name">Agetta</div> <img class="agetta_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/C5NM2zT9/agetta.png"> </div> </center>
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
also Plume's parts blessed by Laura
She would not even be here, standing in this white once-dead form, if it had not been for him. She would still be in the afterlife, be reunited with her love. Be at <i>peace</i> and all of the nightmares that have happened since she crashed back to Earth to balance out <i>his evil</i> would not have happened.
Surely, she shares some of the blame – there isn’t a day that goes by when she doesn’t hate herself for not being strong enough to fight him off of her, for not being smart enough to take their son and hide him away so Anaxarete could not steal him away to the Chamber. For not being good enough to win Abner back with her love. For being weak and stupid and falling for trap after trap of the shadow mare. She has spent lifetimes hating herself for all of her shortcomings – it’s refreshing to have another face to direct her loathing towards.
Another form slides between them, and Agetta is so angry that it takes her a moment to recognize her friend. But the other mare’s presence does nothing to sooth her - she’s furious at Ryatah for playing the peacekeeper, as though every pound of flesh that Agetta could carve from the black stallion wasn’t well deserved, but she does not shove aside her friend to get at him.
Not yet, anyway.
Her attention isn’t so much diverted as it is divided when the ghost-mare begins to speak, explaining why they have all been called here. It is only, finally, when the mare says that they will be able to travel to the afterlife – will be able to see and talk to their loved one – that the anger rushes out of Agetta as though someone had pricked her and she deflated within an instant. A tremor goes through her
She has died and returned before, so the going does not frighten her. What frightens her is what she will find. Her insecurities bubble up within her until she is choking on them. What right does she really have after all these years to go and bother him in the afterlife? Is it even possible for there to be a tether of love existing between them? Agetta does not remember if those in the afterlife can watch those still living, but she finds herself hoping there is no such power. She cannot stand the idea of Plume seeing how far she has fallen, how much she has failed since she has returned to life.
But fighting her insecurities is nothing new. Of course she will go.
Agetta takes a single step and pauses, her gaze flicking momentarily to that adversary of hers. One of a set. “If you need some assistance getting into the afterlife, Atrox, I’d be more than happy to give you a push.” She hisses through clenched teeth, and though she certainly means it (preferably with a more permanent ending than a short trip), her attention isn’t fully on him any more. The anger is there, always there, but it slides off of her like rain now. There are too many other emotions swirling like a tempest within her she does not have room for that fire at the moment. She’s already moving forward again, her heart hammering so loudly within her she can’t even hear the noise of her own hooves on the sand or the crash of the waves.
When she is through the gap, she is slammed with two realizations.
That returning to the afterlife feels <i>good</i> and she is only very distantly uncomfortable with that fact. Agetta knows she should be more disturbed by this realization but she cannot manage it. She does not think she is ready to return permanently, but… she knows this place. She’s spent time here before. Knows the sensations, or lack thereof, and cannot find any discomfort.
And the second thing that hits her like a bolt of lightning - this is the Gates.
The rolling hills are awash in moonlight and there are so many stars above her that Agetta feels dizzy with their presence. It’s her home at her favourite time of night, the night sky she has hazy memories of from her last death. The feather she carries, now in her mouth, heats when she turns her head a certain way so she moves. Now that she is here, she moves more easily. There are no more hesitations, just small alterations to her path depending on where the feather leads her. She’s lost in her thoughts, remembering memories on every hill and beneath every tree she sees.
“You’ve come back.” His voice is as gentle on her ears as the starlight is on her back but she almost buckles with the weight of the emotions she feels when she turns and sees him.
This is not the pseudo-Plume she had enjoyed a brief reunion with in the meadow years ago, Anaxarete in a cruel disguise, but the real thing - her king, her friend, her lover. Now that she sees him, she cannot believe she was fooled by the falsity. How could anything created by that twisted mare recreate the lines of the face before her, the eyes looking at her with a smile that will be her downfall?
“Plume.” His name escapes her as nothing more than a whisper, and she, finally, cannot bring herself to move any more. The feather she has carried all this way falls from her mouth and all she can do is just <i>stare</i>, even her thoughts have stalled out. He seems to sense this and a small chuckle escapes him and he closes the gap between them. First, he stops to pick up the feather she had dropped. She is certain that she can feel her heart break when his dark muzzle ghosts against her neck, burying into her mane to stick the feather there.
This is too much.
She doesn’t deserve the happiness swelling with in her.
“Hey, Agetta.” His smile can be felt against her skin. It must be a trick of her mind, she’s not sure it makes sense that she could feel his touch, but when he pulls away from her she misses the ghost of that feeling. He does not retreat far, however, and their muzzles bump gently together. “You’re a lot whiter than the last time I saw you.” And she cannot help but laugh, shaking her head. Of course it was true - she was a black mare, dark as the night sky, the last time he had welcomed her into the lands of the dead. The laughter feels wonderful but it falls quiet and he looks at her and sees why instantly. “You’re not here to stay this time, are you?”
“No.” And, again, though she says no there’s no real conviction behind it anymore. That warring of desires is rising and she can no longer recall any arguments for her to return to the world. It would be so easy to just stay here, wouldn’t it? She has been feeling like a ghost ever since she returned to Beqanna and this could make it permanent. She could just stay here, living beneath the stars in the Gates forever until she fades away from memory. But she tries to focus, tries to remember why she is here - because she’s going to need his help. She remembers that much. “A… a ghost called us, to help…” Her rational brain finally breaks before she can explain what she is there for. She steps forward until she can press her head against his neck, feel the tickle of his feathers as he unfurls one of those beautiful limbs to drape it across her trembling back.
“Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” She sobs into him, overwhelmed by this experience even though it has only just begun. They haven’t even gotten to the reason she’s here, haven’t helped the ghost with whatever she needs done. It’s only making her feel more fractured, more disconnected with herself and with the world. If she leaves this place, if she leaves <i>him</i> again, how much of herself will she be leaving behind this time? Sure, if they accomplish what they need to she’ll be able to talk to him once a year.
Standing here with him, she does not think that will be enough.
Her first death was so violent, so random, she wonders if choosing this is a fitting second death. As peaceful as stepping through a doorway into her beloved Gates, stepping into the embrace of someone she loved. “Would I be awful, if I stayed?”
“No.” It’s a simple syllable and yet so reassuring. Or, it would be - except even before he says it Agetta swears she can feel the next word coming out of him. “But… I don’t think it’s time for that.” She has been expecting some form of rejection from him but it still stings. She pulls back so she can look him in the eyes. They’re kind, softening the blow - easing the ‘he doesn’t want me here’ thoughts whirling through her mind, though she knows she doesn’t deserve his love. Knows that it probably only exists because time doesn’t exist here in the afterlife so it cannot rot.
And she certainly doesn’t deserve the brush of his muzzle against her cheek as he whispers the next words.
“Not yet, anyway.”
</p> </div> <div class="agetta_name">Agetta</div> <img class="agetta_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/C5NM2zT9/agetta.png"> </div> </center>
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
also Plume's parts blessed by Laura