09-29-2018, 05:33 PM
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When the mare speaks Sunday finds herself assaulted with a cacophony of feelings and emotions. Pain, thick and poignant as the grass beneath her hooves, stabs Sunday in the gut. Then comes confusion, sadness, hurt, every thesaurus of painful thoughts that could vacillate through the mind in a matter of seconds. The peaceful clearing is suddenly a haven and a prison, a quiet place to escape and be stuck with your own emotions. Sunday almost reels at the feeling.
The mare's aura is just as shifty. One moment it is a beautiful hue, then the colors tilt and shift with such violence that it leaves Sunday unnerved. Damn her empathy, damn her ability to feel, she is riding the roller coaster with this mare.
Most would probably leave, she realizes. Other empaths would be overwhelmed by the sheer volume and depth of the emotion that roils through the poor mare's thoughts. Instead, Sunday takes a step forward, bracing herself against the tidal wave of feeling that might project to her. "How can I help you?" she asks, instead of the litany of other questions that one might ask.
The mare's aura is just as shifty. One moment it is a beautiful hue, then the colors tilt and shift with such violence that it leaves Sunday unnerved. Damn her empathy, damn her ability to feel, she is riding the roller coaster with this mare.
Most would probably leave, she realizes. Other empaths would be overwhelmed by the sheer volume and depth of the emotion that roils through the poor mare's thoughts. Instead, Sunday takes a step forward, bracing herself against the tidal wave of feeling that might project to her. "How can I help you?" she asks, instead of the litany of other questions that one might ask.
SUNDAY
never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch