[private] burn me to the ground, phae pony - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: Forest (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=73) +---- Thread: [private] burn me to the ground, phae pony (/showthread.php?tid=30042) |
burn me to the ground, phae pony - hadrien - 08-21-2021 hadrien but if that chariot they’re driving don’t swing low enough for us Just paint two crosses on my eyelids and point me out of touch @phaetra RE: burn me to the ground, phae pony - frey - 08-22-2021 Frey once might have had a story that begins with Momma always told her; but the Fates, the Gods, and the endless magic of Beqanna had a destiny for her Momma that not even her Momma could understand. So she might start with Momma always told me but when she says Momma she stutters over the word and peers up at the elk shining with sympathy. "Momma always told me she loved me," she'd say, on a whisper, and the denmothers would ruffle her fuzzy mane and laugh sadly (laugh in a way that Frey wouldn't come to understand until some years later). Momma did tell her she loved her--she told her she loved her several times and spoke the name Frey like a prayer-- then disappeared two days after Frey's birthday. Frey has yet to experience an always. The only surety in her life is the soft meadow grass and the quiet elk. Even then, they have no desire to keep her here. To Frey's simple child mind, that does not mean always. Her always should be a mother keeping Frey fiercely tucked to her side. There is no always and that is why she often wanders from the Adoption Den. So when she hears the soft hello, Frey strides toward it confidently, searching for her always: "Hello." And though this does not immediately feel as if certainty stands before her, Frey feels herself clinging to the boy's white face with the ferocity of one who knows abandonment intimately. "I'm Frey. Is your mom around?" @hadrien nakey post >:( RE: burn me to the ground, phae pony - hadrien - 08-30-2021 hadrien but if that chariot they’re driving don’t swing low enough for us Just paint two crosses on my eyelids and point me out of touch @frey RE: burn me to the ground, phae pony - frey - 09-06-2021 Frey feels a simple ache, the beginnings of a crack in her heart. At her age, her foundation is so soft and unfinished, she feels every creaking wind and violent onslaught of rain. She bends with the force of her storms, suffers for every whim. Soon, that crack will expand just as her heart will expand, imbedding itself into her very essence—irrevocable unless Frey’s heart is entirely remade. That cold rain washes over her as she stares at Hadrien, as she feels the full blackness of her blind eye. If he says his mother is nearby, she’ll feel her lack of normalcy like the tearing of a tornado over a well-rooted tree: pained and groaning, but not uprooted. And if she isn’t . . . There’s no speculation to be made, as Hadrien simply answers no. The filly sucks in a breath and looses a soft, child-like sigh. “No,” she answers just as simply, tilting her head to better see Hadrien. “Where did she go?” What she doesn’t say is the flood of words desperate to spill from the dam of her teeth. How she doesn’t know where her mom is, but she knows she loves her. How she’s sure even if Hadrien doesn’t know who his mom is, Frey knows she must love him regardless. How she wishes so badly he had said yes, even if knowing someone with a mother made the freezing rain seep further into that twisted, cracked foundation. Instead, Frey stares, head held with the kind of cold pride a child should never wear. @hadrien RE: burn me to the ground, phae pony - hadrien - 09-08-2021 hadrien but if that chariot they’re driving don’t swing low enough for us Just paint two crosses on my eyelids and point me out of touch @frey RE: burn me to the ground, phae pony - frey - 09-21-2021 The soft pattering of rain draws Frey’s lime gaze up to the dark canopy above. She breathes out, watching the air fog up and away from her face. She is thinking, thinking so deeply, about the world that always seems to wash away around her; and it feels as if there is some epic truth in those thoughts, some pillar of personality to bear the weight of how she lives for the rest of her days. How losing her mother might shape her forever, clip the tapestry weaving carefully within her, a piece of a beautiful pattern to be left unfinished until her last breath. Frey strings Hadrien’s chestnut and white into her story, knitting the splash of his face like a ghost (like she might never see him again after this, like he might only linger as some bodily instinct to ask questions). The filly stands ethereally still, focusing on that DNA she suddenly wishes she could change. “I don’t know where mine went, either.” There’s a tightness that lingers in Frey’s chest at the admittance, her first true sensation of regret. A single tear blinks out of her unseeing eye as she feels her body trembling with cold and the desperate need to take her words back. She didn’t want her abandonment to be real, didn’t want her own words to be the ones that finally brought it into reality. Even the den mothers in all their maternal-care didn’t dare mention Galadriel, as if they possess some supernatural sense of exactly what each lost child needs, even if it is what they need is more tribulation. Frey sucks in a breath broken by chattering teeth. “It’s cold in the rain, this deep in the Forest,” she admits as if her words were not already jumbled by the chilling rain and the damp air. “Where are you going?” Frey asks. RE: burn me to the ground, phae pony - hadrien - 09-25-2021 hadrien but if that chariot they’re driving don’t swing low enough for us Just paint two crosses on my eyelids and point me out of touch @frey RE: burn me to the ground, phae pony - frey - 10-05-2021 It is a relief to be invited to do something, though Frey won’t recognize that relaxing of her muscles for what it is until years later. Hadrien may not know how to comfort a child—being just a child himself—but the little snake can sense his intentions within some instinctual part of her. When the boy grins, Frey can’t help but to return it, even if it is a weaker version of his boyish one. “I’d like that,” she answers quietly, voice warbling beneath the sound of the pattering rain. The brilliant lime of her eyes glimmers with the gentlest of hopes, the kind of wonder that only a soft, inexperienced heart can feel. While a darkness threatens and looms within her, Hadrian’s simple, generous offer leads her away from the precipice hanging high above the sea of shadows. Frey gestures for the colt to lead her in a direction. She settles into an easy rhythm beside him, quietly attempting to swallow the panic that chokes her when she wonders if he’ll ask her to leave when this walk is deemed over. “Can I—” Frey stops mid sentence. She swallows, then finds her strength and finishes, “Can I stay and help you find her?” A grim smile lifts her mouth as she adds, “I know I don’t see much with one working eye, but . . .” She doesn’t have a punchline, so silence follows. RE: burn me to the ground, phae pony - hadrien - 10-16-2021 hadrien but if that chariot they’re driving don’t swing low enough for us Just paint two crosses on my eyelids and point me out of touch @frey |