even a n g e l s fall;; {Darks?}

[Engelsfors]

Engelsfors on tarnished golden wings The problem with presumptions, they were often accused with a very wordy tongue, a very strong mind, but were, very often wrong. I know, taking my fill of the cool waters, it soothing, refreshing down my gullet, I just know that I am a walking contradiction. Beauty, flawless gold adorned with gems, but it is fool's gold with fake, plastic gems. It was a masquerade of gold, a vacant mask of silver, I was everything on the outside what I was not on the inside. I am young, it is evident in the way perhaps I was a little on the leaner side, my limbs still growing into my warmblood frame, But on the inside I have lived a thousand lifetimes, gained knowledge like i've been picking flowers from a garden. My eyes may be a soft sky glow, but they are sharp, like splinters of ice, ever watchful and always observant. It isn't my eyes that capture the new arrival, it is a gilded ear, that twitched in the direction of the coming hoofbeats. I lift my head then, crane it up and allow the trickling of water to dampen my chest as I shake away the residue. The journey was far longer than I had guessed, and tiring on these pins of mine. The drink was a well needed gift. I watch her, of course she's a her, and she is also of rank. I study every inch of her, a scruntity that does not go undeserved. She hols herself well, prime, prim and proper. A beautiful shade of auburn and white, well-patched and well-coloured. A woman of little words, like herself, but one who's words cast mighty stones when needs be. 'Straia. Pleasure.' My words are quaint, sharp and spoken with an air of grace, a polite rosy glow to them, polished like the best silver. I was taught well, I was taught manners were due to all those met, it was only when you saw the black hearts within, the demon eyes that glared behind your back, could your sharpen your own blade and deal with swift blow. I dip my nose, my whiskers prickling, lips twisting into a debonair smile. 'Engelsfors.' simple, word word, one name; a name that meant many things but only held one stare, the stare of dying eyes and whispered last words. I spoke with a bittersweet lace and tacky honey. I am not fake to the extent I falsify my manners, my manners are as genuine as the gold sheen on my coat. It was inside of me, the thoughts, the soul with scars and insides pitch as night. But for my exterior, I was as bright as the sun, with a mind coal black, to match my heart, my soul. 'The Chamber.' the words taste pleasantly ripe on my tongue. I flick my ears, the flies circling my hinds get a quick snap of my tail and a harsh stamp of my hind hooves, as I take a step forward, extending what would be the equivalent of a sturdy handshake to the coloured mare, my muzzle velvet soft, but piqued in the slickest of smirks. 'What is the Chamber like, Lady Straia?' they like questions, most like to pander on for hours, answering said questions. As long as I wasn't talking much about myself, I was learning about the world, and who it ticked. And this world, it was a ticking time bomb. even the angels start to fall