06-27-2021, 09:56 AM
mazikeen
Gale shifts and lunges, and Mazikeen is ready for a fight. She would relish one, her burning eyes seem to say, and too late she sees how his attention looks behind her. She’s confused at first as he leaps over her, using her body to spring.
Sickle tries to scream as the feline launches itself at her but Gale’s teeth tear her throat out before the sound can become anything tangible. Her body is flashing rapidly between shapes as she is held down and torn into. And by the time Mazikeen has shifted into something with claws, as fast as she is at doing so and spinning around at the same time, it is too late. Gale raises his blue eyes to her but her attention is only on Sickle and her anger cannot defeat the horror and grief that rises up like burning acid at what she sees.
Everything that glows on her body except for her horns winks out all at once and Mazikeen crumbles at the sound of Sickle’s gasps. She can’t look away from the girl with wide, white-rimmed eyes that match her own. How that orange eye seems to focus on her, on Maze, as the filly struggles for breath enough to cry.
She doesn’t even look at Gale as grief brings her crashing to the ground, reverting back into her natural self as she does and kneeling in Sickle’s blood as Sabal had knelt in hers.
Her muzzle reaches out tentatively for iridescent skin that is not torn, and there is a cheek still intact. The first time she’s touched her daughter since she was born and the fissure this moment creates in Mazikeen’s heart goes deeper than all the rest she’s endured.
Gale had torn her open but this is Mazikeen’s fault.
Her fault she hadn’t known she’d get pregnant, her fault she hadn’t done a good enough job hiding the twins away, her fault she had defied the Curse, her fault she wasn’t fast enough to protect the girl.
“Sickle, oh Sickle.” Mazikeen’s voice is barely above a whisper as she sinks so far into grief she cannot cry. There will be anger, the promise of a fury she has never felt before is simmering in those depths as well. But it will not rise while there is enough of the filly clinging to consciousness that Mazikeen can try to offer comfort to, not while those eyes - one for Maze, one for her father - fill with tears as Sickle bleeds out. “My sweet girl. I’m so sorry.”
Sickle tries to scream as the feline launches itself at her but Gale’s teeth tear her throat out before the sound can become anything tangible. Her body is flashing rapidly between shapes as she is held down and torn into. And by the time Mazikeen has shifted into something with claws, as fast as she is at doing so and spinning around at the same time, it is too late. Gale raises his blue eyes to her but her attention is only on Sickle and her anger cannot defeat the horror and grief that rises up like burning acid at what she sees.
Everything that glows on her body except for her horns winks out all at once and Mazikeen crumbles at the sound of Sickle’s gasps. She can’t look away from the girl with wide, white-rimmed eyes that match her own. How that orange eye seems to focus on her, on Maze, as the filly struggles for breath enough to cry.
She doesn’t even look at Gale as grief brings her crashing to the ground, reverting back into her natural self as she does and kneeling in Sickle’s blood as Sabal had knelt in hers.
Her muzzle reaches out tentatively for iridescent skin that is not torn, and there is a cheek still intact. The first time she’s touched her daughter since she was born and the fissure this moment creates in Mazikeen’s heart goes deeper than all the rest she’s endured.
Gale had torn her open but this is Mazikeen’s fault.
Her fault she hadn’t known she’d get pregnant, her fault she hadn’t done a good enough job hiding the twins away, her fault she had defied the Curse, her fault she wasn’t fast enough to protect the girl.
“Sickle, oh Sickle.” Mazikeen’s voice is barely above a whisper as she sinks so far into grief she cannot cry. There will be anger, the promise of a fury she has never felt before is simmering in those depths as well. But it will not rise while there is enough of the filly clinging to consciousness that Mazikeen can try to offer comfort to, not while those eyes - one for Maze, one for her father - fill with tears as Sickle bleeds out. “My sweet girl. I’m so sorry.”
@Gale