08-27-2016, 12:25 PM
now don’t you understand…that I’m never changing who I am?
Once upon a time—
There was a girl who had forgotten herself. She was forever pulling at her rosary and counting her prayers as if they were magic miracles that were a one way street from heaven to herself. She used to believe that if she was holy enough, that if she asked God for something, she would get it like an everlasting wishing well. So she continued to count those beads, and wished upon the stars.
And then she became a power-hungry king-slut.
She was delivered power wrapped in a box tide with a beautiful ribbon, and she wore it like a badge of honor. She had birthed kings and queens, and she had had the children of kings. Reagan had turned her tail to the right ones—always the right ones, for she counted them up like the beads she clutched to her heart every day, as if they were prayers from heaven. Who does not love screwing kings?—and she had earned herself a place under the Sun, working with the politicians and learning how the world around her worked.
But she never forgot her prayers, her power, or her miracles.
Her body, covered with the numerous scars of previous moments and memories, and now bisected with the healed wounds from the thorns which had enveloped and embraced her for God knows how many years, was old. It was older than old. It was older than dirt. Her pale green eyes, partially obscured by the rat’s nest of her lichen-twinged hair (tinted green) moved with her head as they peered around to look around at the rest of her body, her darker points fading into the thick shadows cast by the denseness of the trees. But as her body faded into obscurity, her scars became brighter in contrast against her skin. She smiled, nosing the white scars down by her hocks as she flipped her greenish tail and took off towards the forest’s exit.
The pathway continued to widen for her, bending nature to her will as she moved the trees and the vegetation out of the way, reminding the land of what it had used to look like an age ago. With no more than the buckle of the right muscle, they moved this way and that, going before the magician with a stroke of power that spoke of something ancient, and powerful. And yet, she was still no more than the little girl using her powers and prayers like a genie in a bottle… and she really only wanted to be rubbed the right way.
From somewhere to her left—we aren’t entirely sure, Reggie really isn’t paying attention—she hears the sound of a woman. Shifting her weight, Reagan spins her back half around to directly face her. Hearing the shifting of the metallic substance around her, Reagan wuffed—widened her nostrils and took in the decided scent of carbon…odd—and tossed her head back to reveal her face to the stranger. She was a dalmation-popcorn mare thing, and Reggie tilted her head to take her in fully. Blinking slowly, she took her in, examining her name, and her history. A Queen, this one? This is what these lands had to cough up for the queens of old? Her chest rose with a quiet laughter as she nosed the ground, before wrapping her tail around her, summoning the leaves of the trees away from their homes around her, creating a facemask, a breastplate, a mantle, a helmet, and thigh guards. She giggles slightly, like her little girl of old, takes in Lexa’s wide expression, and smiles from behind her leaf armor.
“See? I can do it too! As to my countenance, it couldn’t be finer. What do you think, Lexa? Do the leaves suit me?”
There was a girl who had forgotten herself. She was forever pulling at her rosary and counting her prayers as if they were magic miracles that were a one way street from heaven to herself. She used to believe that if she was holy enough, that if she asked God for something, she would get it like an everlasting wishing well. So she continued to count those beads, and wished upon the stars.
And then she became a power-hungry king-slut.
She was delivered power wrapped in a box tide with a beautiful ribbon, and she wore it like a badge of honor. She had birthed kings and queens, and she had had the children of kings. Reagan had turned her tail to the right ones—always the right ones, for she counted them up like the beads she clutched to her heart every day, as if they were prayers from heaven. Who does not love screwing kings?—and she had earned herself a place under the Sun, working with the politicians and learning how the world around her worked.
But she never forgot her prayers, her power, or her miracles.
Her body, covered with the numerous scars of previous moments and memories, and now bisected with the healed wounds from the thorns which had enveloped and embraced her for God knows how many years, was old. It was older than old. It was older than dirt. Her pale green eyes, partially obscured by the rat’s nest of her lichen-twinged hair (tinted green) moved with her head as they peered around to look around at the rest of her body, her darker points fading into the thick shadows cast by the denseness of the trees. But as her body faded into obscurity, her scars became brighter in contrast against her skin. She smiled, nosing the white scars down by her hocks as she flipped her greenish tail and took off towards the forest’s exit.
The pathway continued to widen for her, bending nature to her will as she moved the trees and the vegetation out of the way, reminding the land of what it had used to look like an age ago. With no more than the buckle of the right muscle, they moved this way and that, going before the magician with a stroke of power that spoke of something ancient, and powerful. And yet, she was still no more than the little girl using her powers and prayers like a genie in a bottle… and she really only wanted to be rubbed the right way.
From somewhere to her left—we aren’t entirely sure, Reggie really isn’t paying attention—she hears the sound of a woman. Shifting her weight, Reagan spins her back half around to directly face her. Hearing the shifting of the metallic substance around her, Reagan wuffed—widened her nostrils and took in the decided scent of carbon…odd—and tossed her head back to reveal her face to the stranger. She was a dalmation-popcorn mare thing, and Reggie tilted her head to take her in fully. Blinking slowly, she took her in, examining her name, and her history. A Queen, this one? This is what these lands had to cough up for the queens of old? Her chest rose with a quiet laughter as she nosed the ground, before wrapping her tail around her, summoning the leaves of the trees away from their homes around her, creating a facemask, a breastplate, a mantle, a helmet, and thigh guards. She giggles slightly, like her little girl of old, takes in Lexa’s wide expression, and smiles from behind her leaf armor.
“See? I can do it too! As to my countenance, it couldn’t be finer. What do you think, Lexa? Do the leaves suit me?”