[open] nothing's so sure that I can't learn to doubt it

[Ravin]

Early spring seems like the palest of the Gates’ many blooming seasons. The world around him is filled mostly with white blossoms, and a gust of the coming evening’s wind sends those in the branches overhead flying about like massive flakes of snow. They cover the ground, perfuming the air as the young stallion wades through them on his way out of his homeland.

He doesn’t leave often, preferring to keep to the places he knows best. But on nights like these, with the moon full and his family restless, he prefers the danger of the unknown to the strangeness of his own home. It forces him to be aware of his surroundings, his golden ears flicking about as he makes his way deeper into the unknown and toward the Common Lands.

He finds the first stranger who does not scowl when their gazes meet, and approaches with an easy smile that nevertheless does not reveal his pointed teeth nor the full length of his jaw.

“Have anything fun planned for the evening?” He asks, the feathers above his brow rising in curiosity. With the sun setting, his eyes are red-gold and bright even in the long shadows around them, and he glances to see if there are others nearby that he might ask the same question if it turns out this stranger has neither plans nor anything interesting to say.

repost/refresh - open to anyone!

[Topsail]

The Gods giveth, and the Gods taketh away. It was a tale as old as time, older even than the Gods themselves. Mortals though had a tendency for foolishness, for greedily drinking from that fountain of power that the Gods occasionally let flow. Iccarus had learned the hard way, that foolish mortal. Those who took more than what was freely offered were certain to be punished.

She had certainly taken her fair share, and when it was stripped from her, she hadn't learned. Instead she had dwelled solely on the "what ifs" and "could have beens", letting life go on while she struggled to find a way back to the past. The Gods would gleefully make mockery of a fool like her.

Daytime bled into dusk, and she could feel something odd creeping along her bones. Something like a shiver, but heavier somehow, and much more powerful. She barely has time to contemplate though before a stranger approaches, all golden skinned and soft eyed. Her blue eyes turned to him, and with her thoughts elsewhere she forgot to grimace, and instead she stares blankly as he asks her plans. At the end of his question, the clouds rolled away, revealing a full moon. The grimace on her pretty face grew, and the flesh on her body began to bubble and rot. It was over as quickly as it started. Gone was the pretty grulla mare and her downy wings, to be replaced by something long dead and crawling with grave worms.

" Queens do nothing for fun." she said, her voice slithering into his mind.

[Ravin]

‘Queens do nothing for fun.’

Ravin, who happens to know another queen, would usually agree.

He is not thinking about queens though. He is not thinking about much at all. He is too busy staring at the way her face has caved in, then at the tiny little worm wriggling in what was left of the skin below her nearest eye. He has never seen such a thing before, but he is too fearless, and leans closer.

When satisfied he draws back, a scowl having settled onto his handsome golden face.

I don’t like that, he is about to tell her.
His mouth even opens a little, the words ready to spill across blue lips.

Though still often thoughtless, Ravin had been berated for rudeness often enough as a young child to hesitate, and as he does, he realizes what he had not before, lost in fascination as he was. Her voice had not sounded in his ears.

The frown on his face remains, but rather than disturbed it becomes suspicious, his eyes narrowing as the thought of danger finally crosses his mind.

“What’re you queen of?” He asks, deciding it would be best to know what kind of monster he is dealing with if the thing in front of him turns out to be a monster. She’s probably a queen of ghouls, he thinks, ruling over the dead and here to… Well, he’s not quite sure what a ruler of the dead might be doing in the Meadow.

ooc: sorry it took 84 years!