08-26-2021, 05:31 PM
Ryatah
When she is alone now, it is a different feeling than before.
Before, her solitude felt like a prison. Like her very bones had turned into a cage, pressing into her skin, her heart, squeezing at every part of her until she felt like she might implode. Her solitude was not a thing of peace, but instead a cavern where all of her insecurities echoed on repeat, driving her to both madness and darkness. It was loneliness manifesting itself into a monster, and it was easier to simply succumb to it.
But now, walking alone in the forest just before dawn, there is only quiet. Her mind is as hushed as the shadows that still cling to the trees, quivering beneath the light that her aura casts. There is no roiling tension, no desperate need to place a hand into the fire to see if it will still burn. To say that she feels at peace for the first time in nearly all her life is a terrifying thought, afraid that if she gives it a voice that it will become something tangible to be ripped from her. Peace and tranquility have only ever been the calm before a storm, and when she learned she could not keep the storms from coming she had learned chasing them was the only form of control she would ever have. Atrox wasn’t a storm, though; he was the lighthouse trying to keep her from breaking against the shore, and it was only in learning that that she finally knew what peace really could be.
Up above the sky has begun to lighten with morning, sunrise-colored veins of light spreading through the tops of the trees, and she thinks she should make her way back to Hyaline. But it is then that she hears the voice, the sound of a young boy coming through the trees. The voice causes her to still, everything about her settling into a hush, save for the faintest stirring of the white angel-feathers in her wings and the stardust that trails from them. She does not answer but instead moves towards the sound, noting the way the boy speaks as though to someone else—two of them, then, at least.
“Hello,” she greets them as they come face to face, taking in the older stallion and the boy at his side. “Sorry if I startled you,” she says with an apologetic smile before continuing, “I was just enjoying the forest before it is fully awake.”
Before, her solitude felt like a prison. Like her very bones had turned into a cage, pressing into her skin, her heart, squeezing at every part of her until she felt like she might implode. Her solitude was not a thing of peace, but instead a cavern where all of her insecurities echoed on repeat, driving her to both madness and darkness. It was loneliness manifesting itself into a monster, and it was easier to simply succumb to it.
But now, walking alone in the forest just before dawn, there is only quiet. Her mind is as hushed as the shadows that still cling to the trees, quivering beneath the light that her aura casts. There is no roiling tension, no desperate need to place a hand into the fire to see if it will still burn. To say that she feels at peace for the first time in nearly all her life is a terrifying thought, afraid that if she gives it a voice that it will become something tangible to be ripped from her. Peace and tranquility have only ever been the calm before a storm, and when she learned she could not keep the storms from coming she had learned chasing them was the only form of control she would ever have. Atrox wasn’t a storm, though; he was the lighthouse trying to keep her from breaking against the shore, and it was only in learning that that she finally knew what peace really could be.
Up above the sky has begun to lighten with morning, sunrise-colored veins of light spreading through the tops of the trees, and she thinks she should make her way back to Hyaline. But it is then that she hears the voice, the sound of a young boy coming through the trees. The voice causes her to still, everything about her settling into a hush, save for the faintest stirring of the white angel-feathers in her wings and the stardust that trails from them. She does not answer but instead moves towards the sound, noting the way the boy speaks as though to someone else—two of them, then, at least.
“Hello,” she greets them as they come face to face, taking in the older stallion and the boy at his side. “Sorry if I startled you,” she says with an apologetic smile before continuing, “I was just enjoying the forest before it is fully awake.”
EVEN ANGELS HAVE THEIR WICKED SCHEMES
@Nashua
~ warped timeline ~