07-15-2015, 11:07 PM
 She is like a ghost, and she is next to her before Celestyn can even run. Not that she would. She is not scared of strangers, she is scared of talking to them. She is scared of sounding foolish, she is scared of putting herself out there and not being liked. But she is not scared of being physically hurt. That never crosses her mind. Being alone for most of her life she has learned to not be afraid of things like that. The things that go bump in the night are real, and she has faced them, or ran and escaped from them. It is the things that are not tangible that she finds frightening; what are they thinking? What thoughts run through their minds, do they look at her and think ‘how stupid’, ‘how ugly’? The other mare looks like sorrow. Celestyn did not know that such emotions could have faces, but she sees it on her. It becomes her and seeps from her pores, and Celestyn finds it both intriguing and uncomfortable. What if she said the wrong thing and made everything worse? Her social interactions have been very limited thus far, and her fear of saying something ridiculous usually just forced her to stay quiet. Normally she didn’t mind, but right now, face to face with this mare, she wished she possessed the silver tongue that so many seemed to have, and that she could find all the right words to say. But instead she can only murmur quietly, ”I am always alone.” Her voice is lovely but there is a faint rasp to it from a lack of use, rising just slightly above a whisper. And then there is another, and it is all Celestyn can do to keep from shrinking backwards. The darkness of the forest is behind her, waiting patiently, and that is her only comfort. She could leave if she needed to. But instead she stands there, rigid, the lines of her muscles etched beneath her paint-splattered coat, and she forces herself to make eye contact with the newcomer. She is young, and inwardly she already feels foolish for being so uncomfortable. It was silly to be intimidated by a child, especially one that was obviously friendly. She introduces herself, and in return she offers, ”My name is Celestyn.” Her gaze returns to the melancholy mare, realizing that she did not know her name. But then Elfeya asks her question and she bites her honey-colored lip nervously, unsure of whether the question was going to cause the other mare to unravel.  corruption and elentári |