12-03-2018, 07:24 PM
[center]Once upon a time, in a land torn apart by disease and disaster, there lived a queen and her little princess. They lived together in a high tower, surrounded by the sea and safe from the world. Once upon a time, this tower had been a haven for the queen. It was where she had healed from her injuries, mostly, and birthed the little princess. It had began as a sanctuary. Now it was their prison.[/center]
My hooves click rhythmically as I pace the rim of my cliff side place. A year. I've been here for a year, aware of it for half a year, a new mother for half of that. Ten paces, end to end, over and over. Thirty-five steps to circle the oblong platform, pressed against the jagged wall for half that revolution. Over and over. There's little else to occupy my mind, though more than there used to be. It's not just me up here anymore, now I have company.
My tiny daughter, all blush-dipped lavender, glittering like some Fey child. It was easier to think of her that way. Maybe in my death sleep, some impish fairy had planted their seed within me, thinking it some fine joke. Better than the reality, that the man who'd given her to me had done so with enough violence to end my life for a while. And now I was here, captive and in constant pain, feeling my sanity soak into the stones of our tower. Hating the man who put me here.
Castile, my dragon, my captor. His barely bridled rage, his abrupt departure when I'd needed him most. His parting words still echoed in my mind, bitter and so deliberately caustic. No. I did not want a constant reminder of my trauma, didn't want to see Klaudius every day in my daughter's face. It was hateful to say I would. But I would not, could not, turn my back on her. I had named her Miela. Honey Girl. My sweetness and my salvation. Someone to tell stories to, to take care of. Someone to give my love to, seemingly the only one who'd take it. Ilma (I had learned her name at last) had been a kindness, but she hadn't the strength to move us from this perch, and had a life and duties of her own to see to. I couldn't begrudge her that.
Internally I was healed, mentally I could survive. But my wing had never been reset from the break and dislocation it had suffered, and so had hung uselessly at my side since I'd been well enough to stand again. It had healed as well as it could, which wasn't well enough. Castile could hate Miela as much as he wanted too. He could hate me too. Without her, I knew for certain that I would care much less about my second lease on life than I did. Looking back toward my shining girl, my thin sides shivered in a coastal breeze.
She was small. Too small for the sickness sinking it's claws into her belly. Yet another nail in the dragon stag's coffin. I had seen the symptoms in his visage, despite the high emotions coloring that last encounter. The illness had gripped her so quickly, before her tiny body had a chance to defend itself. Nothing I could fight, nothing I could do. Just watch and wait, while fever and exhaustion did their dirty work. We had to get out of here.
@[Miela] @[Castile] @Whoever else feels relevant
My hooves click rhythmically as I pace the rim of my cliff side place. A year. I've been here for a year, aware of it for half a year, a new mother for half of that. Ten paces, end to end, over and over. Thirty-five steps to circle the oblong platform, pressed against the jagged wall for half that revolution. Over and over. There's little else to occupy my mind, though more than there used to be. It's not just me up here anymore, now I have company.
My tiny daughter, all blush-dipped lavender, glittering like some Fey child. It was easier to think of her that way. Maybe in my death sleep, some impish fairy had planted their seed within me, thinking it some fine joke. Better than the reality, that the man who'd given her to me had done so with enough violence to end my life for a while. And now I was here, captive and in constant pain, feeling my sanity soak into the stones of our tower. Hating the man who put me here.
Castile, my dragon, my captor. His barely bridled rage, his abrupt departure when I'd needed him most. His parting words still echoed in my mind, bitter and so deliberately caustic. No. I did not want a constant reminder of my trauma, didn't want to see Klaudius every day in my daughter's face. It was hateful to say I would. But I would not, could not, turn my back on her. I had named her Miela. Honey Girl. My sweetness and my salvation. Someone to tell stories to, to take care of. Someone to give my love to, seemingly the only one who'd take it. Ilma (I had learned her name at last) had been a kindness, but she hadn't the strength to move us from this perch, and had a life and duties of her own to see to. I couldn't begrudge her that.
Internally I was healed, mentally I could survive. But my wing had never been reset from the break and dislocation it had suffered, and so had hung uselessly at my side since I'd been well enough to stand again. It had healed as well as it could, which wasn't well enough. Castile could hate Miela as much as he wanted too. He could hate me too. Without her, I knew for certain that I would care much less about my second lease on life than I did. Looking back toward my shining girl, my thin sides shivered in a coastal breeze.
She was small. Too small for the sickness sinking it's claws into her belly. Yet another nail in the dragon stag's coffin. I had seen the symptoms in his visage, despite the high emotions coloring that last encounter. The illness had gripped her so quickly, before her tiny body had a chance to defend itself. Nothing I could fight, nothing I could do. Just watch and wait, while fever and exhaustion did their dirty work. We had to get out of here.
@[Miela] @[Castile] @Whoever else feels relevant