The problem with presumptions, they were often accused with a very wordy tongue, a very strong mind, but were, very often wrong. I know, taking my fill of the cool waters, it soothing, refreshing down my gullet, I just know that I am a walking contradiction. Beauty, flawless gold adorned with gems, but it is fool's gold with fake, plastic gems. It was a masquerade of gold, a vacant mask of silver, I was everything on the outside what I was not on the inside. I am young, it is evident in the way perhaps I was a little on the leaner side, my limbs still growing into my warmblood frame, But on the inside I have lived a thousand lifetimes, gained knowledge like i've been picking flowers from a garden. My eyes may be a soft sky glow, but they are sharp, like splinters of ice, ever watchful and always observant.

It isn't my eyes that capture the new arrival, it is a gilded ear, that twitched in the direction of the coming hoofbeats. I lift my head then, crane it up and allow the trickling of water to dampen my chest as I shake away the residue. The journey was far longer than I had guessed, and tiring on these pins of mine. The drink was a well needed gift. I watch her, of course she's a her, and she is also of rank. I study every inch of her, a scruntity that does not go undeserved. She hols herself well, prime, prim and proper. A beautiful shade of auburn and white, well-patched and well-coloured. A woman of little words, like herself, but one who's words cast mighty stones when needs be.

'Straia. Pleasure.' My words are quaint, sharp and spoken with an air of grace, a polite rosy glow to them, polished like the best silver. I was taught well, I was taught manners were due to all those met, it was only when you saw the black hearts within, the demon eyes that glared behind your back, could your sharpen your own blade and deal with swift blow. I dip my nose, my whiskers prickling, lips twisting into a debonair smile. 'Engelsfors.' simple, word word, one name; a name that meant many things but only held one stare, the stare of dying eyes and whispered last words. I spoke with a bittersweet lace and tacky honey. I am not fake to the extent I falsify my manners, my manners are as genuine as the gold sheen on my coat. It was inside of me, the thoughts, the soul with scars and insides pitch as night. But for my exterior, I was as bright as the sun, with a mind coal black, to match my heart, my soul.

'The Chamber.' the words taste pleasantly ripe on my tongue. I flick my ears, the flies circling my hinds get a quick snap of my tail and a harsh stamp of my hind hooves, as I take a step forward, extending what would be the equivalent of a sturdy handshake to the coloured mare, my muzzle velvet soft, but piqued in the slickest of smirks. 'What is the Chamber like, Lady Straia?' they like questions, most like to pander on for hours, answering said questions. As long as I wasn't talking much about myself, I was learning about the world, and who it ticked. And this world, it was a ticking time bomb.

even the angels start to fall

Polished golden penny ears turn upon sixpences, listening, absorbing every little word that the coloured lady spins. She is like a seamstress, her voice tranquil like the lapping waves of a lake against reeds. Straia has an air about her that reminds me of my own mother; rest her soul in her stubborn little place. It was gracefulness with a sense of authority, and she wore it well, like a regal crown, yet slightly tipped upon a working head. I listen, I keep a keen eye contact with my sapphire eyes. they watch all, they notice things. She gathers her thoughts, a little memory here, a little recollection there. A crooked little smile, velvet and silk upon my pale lips. 'You have a grace about you, Straia. I've seen it before... It is charming authority. You hold it well.' my tone is crisp, like early morning hazy breath in winter, the first cold dew on the grass in autumn. I am charming and a lithe model of everything that would be considered perfect, but inside, inside I may as well be rotten to the core. I keep my masks on permanently, ever-changing to match the mood for the day. But whereas my facades alter, my utmost respect, my manners are ones that stay like a beauty mark, always there, never leaving. 'The Chamber... it sounds like it could be torment for some but paradise for others.'

My words they are spiderwebs, catching the air of a sensitive joke. I smile again, broader, charming. I flick my ghostly tail across my hocks, gliding against my flanks to ward off pesky flies. The summer heat was still clay against my skin, still wearing at my muscles, my young bones. I listen, I catch every little word, every little movement in her jaw, as though transfixed. If I was after a family, I would have never left home. Families, they are a be all or an end all. Most often they are an end all. They say blood is thicker than water, yet water is fluid, and blood can clot. I've seen that myself. 'I would say there is a touch of evil in everyone. As much as many wouldn't care to admit.' smooth like satin, a little course like black velvet. I dip my head, a little chuckle, 'What I wish for, Straia, is not a family, not loving arms, but a job to do. I left home because I became... stale. There is more to life than sitting and looking pretty.' I tilt my head a little to the right, casting my forelock across my face like a golden veil, concealing my right eye. hiding secrets long kept hidden, hiding the masquerades beneath a charming smile and glittering words. 'The Chamber sounds quite fitting. For now.' my shoulders are weary as they shift a touch to the left, my hooves splintering from the journey, they lift and are placed down in a procession of awkward beats. I was not being picky, I needed a place to rest, and I needed something a little more than a field full of prying eyes and interloping ears. I also needed a job to do. For a mind like mine, always ticking, always turning, if it were to just stop... I dread to think what might happen. My words are true, genuine to the very end. I am hard working, much to the deciding eye. My lips smile in a debonair fashion, my gossamer mane falling in spun gold rivulets down my neck as i extend it out, a little inclination to the coloured lady. 'There is no time like the present, I am young, impressionably so. The Chamber sounds like it is exactly what I am looking for.'

even the angels start to fall