every scar will build my throne; T/w any

[Vercingetorix]

I was starting to wonder if she would never leave. The golden mare was as gleaming and as prying as the sunlight, poking in every nook and cranny that I tried to hide. She was there, was Mother, with her ever watchful sapphire glare. I couldn't hide in the Chamber's forest without her finding me. I pleaded for some alone time, to chase the small mammals around the first floor, to use these new willowy pins to leap over decaying logs and flimsy bark. I am sure it was Father who had encouraged her to let me out of her sight, for just a few hours. Well, she agreed, to a degree. Where was the safest place, other than the confines of the Chamber? Oh, this place. So my golden mother had travelled along with me, telling me the nodules of life, like some lecture. My amber gaze find everything else far more interesting. The way the long grasses bent and bowed in the wind, the way the water ran rapids in the river. Oh, and the call of the birds that weren't the black shadows in the skies. No caw of the raven, but the quaint singsong of the larks. Perhaps, perhaps I was far too used to the dark, to step into the light, but my mother left me in the playground, with a wise word of carefulness and safety. Pft. What danger could be done here? Oh, perhaps I'd trip over a log, or fall into a rabbit hole. Well, that could always lead to some sort of adventure? Surely. Following white rabbits down holes, what fun could that be? VERCINGETORIX; every wound will shape me, every scar will build my throne killdare x engelsfors