Okay, I think I've waited long enough that everyone who knew me is probably dead. Except Texas, but I doubt he remembers a graceless filly with oversized white wings visiting his kingdom.
I skirt the kingdoms that hold no interest for me, doing lazy flyovers and making mental calculations. The Chamber is out of the question; those guys are fucked up. I like fun, but there's a limit, right? And the Valley is, well, they have always been the Chamber with wings so that's a no, too. The Gates, from what I've gathered, has recently been ransacked and the Deserts is ruled by a mare who is so pretty the sun wants to explode with envy. Sooo, that's a no, too. Beautiful women intimidate me. I mean, they also turn me on, but more so they intimidate me.
Which leaves the Dale and the Falls.
(The Field is not my style. That place is a fucking meat market. I'll go there for entertainment, like it's a pub one visits after a concert, but that's it.)
I decide to visit the Falls first because, well, I don't have a good reason and I've been flying for hours and it's probably about time I proved I know how to interact with others.
To be honest, I can't remember the last time I spoke out loud to someone other than myself. And although I am fairly certain that isn't something one forgets, for all I know the first sounds out of my throat will be a croak instead of a greeting.
I land just within the borders, trying to appear non-threatening. Luckily, stereotypes are always in full force and a pretty, long legged mare is still seen as more of a princess than a conqueror these days. Plus the Falls doesn't strike me as a kingdom that would tear someone's head out with at least telling them why.
I know next to nothing about the state of the Falls these days. I once called it home, ages and ages ago, although some days it feels like yesterday. Immortality can suck, but it does have its perks. One of which is my body is frozen in the peak of health, so I look eternally young. I mean, you can't beat that for wooing ladies, right? I am a garish splash of white and black, with golden eyes and large white wings extending from my shoulders in an impressive wingspan. If you can pin down a breed, you'd win a prize, because I can't tell. Whatever else my mother and father were, they were both leggy and tall and I've inherited every bit of that.
I bury my nose in the snow, my wings tucked up against my sides, enjoying the feeling of being alive again. Perhaps this time around I can have some fun, rather than being constrained by the notions of royalty. After all, no one remembers a mouthy mare named Tisiphone.
Hell, I barely remember her.
Tisiphone
u wat m8?