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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


    Please stay, for this fear will not die; any
    #1
    Motherhood suits the Spring; She is the bringer of new life, the opener of flowers, the awakener of trees. She is the essence of newness, the scent of the year’s first rain, the blade of grass peeking through Winter’s  last snowfall. She is the harbinger of Summer, the voice which heralds the coming months of comfort.

    Most importantly, she is the season who welcomes the children into life.

    Upon this spring day, however, Mother Spring takes leave from her three darlings (wolf-child, ivy-child, rain-child) and seeks the solace of the Meadow. What solace she finds in the memories is questionable (was she not forced into love by her sister to a whoremonger of a man, was she not tormented in her weakness by Eight, was she not seduced into the loss of her virginity to that very same magician only some years later), but perhaps it is the thought of new acquaintances which so appeal to her. It has been ages since she’s been away. She’s been ravelled in her own legacy, sprinting from lover to lover, seeing to her magical children, and sometimes visiting the Deserts.  While the world outside has been roaming from season to season, Mother Spring has been stuck in a rut. Perhaps this is her way of struggling out of it.

    When she enters the Meadow, it booms into activity. The grass stretches higher, the flowers are more vibrant, and the bunnies come in hoards to eat the newly created clovers. A herd of deer sweep through the land, frolicking gaily in the presence of their Mother. Wherever one may glance, the glory of spring is magnified by one thousand. She smiles at the thought (a smile which resides on alabaster bark instead of skin, bark which cracks reveal a glorious red undertone with a faint glowing green just beneath it. Red willow branches brush against her neck and hocks, and in her mane and tail, white dogwood flowers grow with glowing green centers. Finally, where normal eyes should be, pupilless orbs lay, glowing the same Kelly-green as the rest of her glowy parts.)
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    #2
    She walks as if the soft green grass beneath her feet were made of glass. Slowly, carefully, with a precision she has practiced for nearly two years now. It has been nearly two years since she has felt a single blade of grass break beneath her hoof – so long that she yearns for it, driven to wistfulness as she imagines being once again a filly, crashing recklessly through the underbrush, breaking branches, breaking grass, breaking twigs, and never breaking stride.

    Now she just breaks.  

    Eulia used to long for things a young orphaned filly would. Having other children who would play with her instead of widen their eyes at her words and shy away. How their flesh would warm hers, if she could feel the blood coursing through her veins if she pressed just close enough.

    When her baby-fuzz gave way to a sleek yearling coat, she thought about how small her hooves were.

    There was a day where her youthful wanderings led her to a sandy shoreline and a vast expanse of water that stretched to the horizon. She was not alone. There was a man there, rearing, again and again, kicking up the dirty sand, reveling with an unusual zeal in the chill oceanside draft. When curiosity brought her closer she noticed that he was not, in fact, trampling the earth, but a limp and bloodied brown body spread across it. The stallion who was splitting it apart was a great, hulking beast of a thing; little Eu, merely a pony cross with small feet that she knew would never bear the strength to crack skulls, but surely a girl can dream!

    She dreams it still.

    Her thoughts, though, are interrupted. The grass, cropped perpetually short by the ever-present traffic in the place, is suddenly tickling her underbelly. Her black lips part. She giggles once. Stops. She used to laugh a lot, a wonderful, uncontainable sort of laughter that would bring her to her knees, to the ground, but now laughing is dangerous. Anything that compromises her self-control compromises balance – anything that compromises balance compromises her life. Still, with every movement, she feels the grass, feather-light, brushing ever so slightly against her skin and it takes all the effort she has to control herself.

    “You are going to kill me, at this rate,” she calls to the source of the magic. She isn’t sure where this creature is, whatever beast grew the grass so, but she knows it must be close. Her eyes shut as she tries to keep the smile off her face, her sides heaving. Don’t laugh. But oh, how she wants to lose control.

    “Do continue.”
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    #3
    Most days, most days stay the sole same
    Please stay, for this fear it will not die
    Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
    Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vine

    Noori hears the giggle, though Noori hears many things. The happiness is assumable; who does not smile when the kind side of spring shows its face? Who dares be repulsed by all that is new and fresh and lovely? The thought is simply does not cross her mind. In fact, she's so attractive that she managed to accidentally snag three suitors in one breeding season. Thus the triplets. Perhaps Mother Spring happens to have a promiscuous side, but the shadows of the world are meant to be just that; unknowable shadows. For the most part, the Spring brings joy (evidently in some questionable fashions), not sadness. She brings the first rains, and the last ones, too. She brings all that is good (and in threes, it seems), at least in theory.

    A voice replaces the laughter; Noori turns to face it. The mare - young, fragile, and coloured like the sun with clouds before it - has what should rightly be a smile on her lips, though its tightness warrants Noori to believe that it is being restricted. A smile of her own forms when she processes the woman's words. "I am no murderer, darling." The nicety slips off her lips as though the two have been close friends for some while. "Especially of beautiful things." The compliment, too, comes without hesitation. Subconsciously, Noori realizes where Nihlus - her eldest son - may have gotten his forwardness. But I digress.

    Approaching the delicate thing in all her splendor (red willow leaves swaying in the light breeze, pupilless eyes glowing, dogwood flowers stretching fragrantly towards the sun), Noori introduces herself. "Mother Spring, though I'm known largely as Noori." She halts before the reluctantly joyous woman with a tilt of her shapely head. "Tell me, darling, why do you hesitate to embrace what is good? The good wishes to embrace you, you know." As she speaks these words, a beautifully spotted fawn appears next to the palomino tobiano. Its wide blue eyes reach up towards the glass girl before a big smile tears them away. The baby snuggles itself shyly into the glass girl's side, nudging her very gently, as though she knew.

    noori


    can I just say that I stalk you on rants and that I'm so honored to have a real live lilith post AND I LOVE YOU!!!!????
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