12-20-2020, 12:06 AM
take my soul & make it undone
be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun. i know, i know you can bring the fire, i can bring the bones. i know, i know you'll make the fire, my bones will make it grow.
She hadn’t expected so many to recognize her name. In the months after plunging from Death to Life and looking into a reflection with an unfamiliar face staring back, Wishbone had debated whether to create a new alias for herself. The gray world of the Afterlife had melted into a life full of color at her fingertips, gifting her the chance at something brand new. It had taken her time to decide who she wanted to be (and to learn how to sweep away distance without stumbling over her foreign long legs) but in the end, Wishbone has always known she can never be anything but herself.
She has seen how Death has eroded at memories. She had spoken with strangers in the Afterlife who had once been important rulers of long-forgotten kingdoms. Their names had become nothing more than a line to be memorized in a list of ancestors or past kings. And in all the time that had passed since her undoing, Wishbone had assumed her name had disappeared into the fabric of vague remembrances as well.
A glimmer of amusement dances in the corner of Wishbone’s slender, golden mouth. It seems that Lilliana and Quell have both taken lessons in Nerinian history. The onyx mare wonders how this new acquaintance may have memorized the past Khalessi’s, especially while she smells of Taiga and its brisk pine.
Eurwen. The smile grows even larger at the thought of the young girl — who is certainly a grown woman by now. The world continued to turn while she wasted years in the Afterlife, and this thought reminds her of her own children (those twin daughters with a whole world at their petite feet). The joy billowing in her chest deflates softly, replaced by familiar anger that burns in the pit of her stomach. Wishbone has lost the most crucial years with her children; now those daughters are lost among the wilderness of Beqanna and she is unsure if she will ever see them again.
Briskly forcing her wandering attention away from her frustration, amber eyes find Lilliana’s. “Eurwen,” she muses in a sweet, smoky voice. “She was just a child the last time I saw her.” Macaws call in the distance, singing of ashen humidity and summertime peace. The sound reminds Wishbone of her childhood and, as if Lilliana had sensed her thoughts, the other mare’s question further unleashes the memories.
The quick sting and longer ache from the bite of a volcano-stream as she races her father through the forest, leaping just in time to avoid the brunt of the burn.
Her mother’s soft brown eyes as she nudges a young Wishbone into the ocean to clean the day’s sweat and ash and mud from her spirited body.
The golden face of a boy with two fanged teeth poking from his playful smile, even while he persuades her to swim for the sandbar in the middle of the bay.
Wishbone has never been able to control her emotions or her physical reactions to them. She has been much like the ocean in that regard — her waves are tossed to and fro by the undercurrents and winds that drag them from east to west and back again. A sharp inhale cuts through the brief silence in the moments following Lilliana’s question and Wishbone’s subsequent remembering. Wolfbane’s gold-and-blue face stands out, a clear image pressing against the back of her eyes as if Cupid had tattooed him there itself.
Of the reasons Wishbone has returned to her childhood home, had Wolfbane been one of them?
“I grew up here in Tephra.” She turns her gaze toward their surroundings — the comforting face of the volcano, the wide fronds of the elephant ears, the curving path of a lava-stream just past the trail they stand upon — and the memories of her youth dance through her mind. Wishbone laughs aloud; her voice is honey and whiskey, a potent combination of Tephra’s ash and feminine sweetness. “I was on a mission to summit the volcano in those days. My best friend always told me it was too dangerous, but I never listened to him.” Her windswept forelock falls across the gold marking detailed on her face as she swivels her eyes back toward Lilliana. “I guess I’m here to complete that mission and find some new adventures.”
She has seen how Death has eroded at memories. She had spoken with strangers in the Afterlife who had once been important rulers of long-forgotten kingdoms. Their names had become nothing more than a line to be memorized in a list of ancestors or past kings. And in all the time that had passed since her undoing, Wishbone had assumed her name had disappeared into the fabric of vague remembrances as well.
A glimmer of amusement dances in the corner of Wishbone’s slender, golden mouth. It seems that Lilliana and Quell have both taken lessons in Nerinian history. The onyx mare wonders how this new acquaintance may have memorized the past Khalessi’s, especially while she smells of Taiga and its brisk pine.
Eurwen. The smile grows even larger at the thought of the young girl — who is certainly a grown woman by now. The world continued to turn while she wasted years in the Afterlife, and this thought reminds her of her own children (those twin daughters with a whole world at their petite feet). The joy billowing in her chest deflates softly, replaced by familiar anger that burns in the pit of her stomach. Wishbone has lost the most crucial years with her children; now those daughters are lost among the wilderness of Beqanna and she is unsure if she will ever see them again.
Briskly forcing her wandering attention away from her frustration, amber eyes find Lilliana’s. “Eurwen,” she muses in a sweet, smoky voice. “She was just a child the last time I saw her.” Macaws call in the distance, singing of ashen humidity and summertime peace. The sound reminds Wishbone of her childhood and, as if Lilliana had sensed her thoughts, the other mare’s question further unleashes the memories.
The quick sting and longer ache from the bite of a volcano-stream as she races her father through the forest, leaping just in time to avoid the brunt of the burn.
Her mother’s soft brown eyes as she nudges a young Wishbone into the ocean to clean the day’s sweat and ash and mud from her spirited body.
The golden face of a boy with two fanged teeth poking from his playful smile, even while he persuades her to swim for the sandbar in the middle of the bay.
Wishbone has never been able to control her emotions or her physical reactions to them. She has been much like the ocean in that regard — her waves are tossed to and fro by the undercurrents and winds that drag them from east to west and back again. A sharp inhale cuts through the brief silence in the moments following Lilliana’s question and Wishbone’s subsequent remembering. Wolfbane’s gold-and-blue face stands out, a clear image pressing against the back of her eyes as if Cupid had tattooed him there itself.
Of the reasons Wishbone has returned to her childhood home, had Wolfbane been one of them?
“I grew up here in Tephra.” She turns her gaze toward their surroundings — the comforting face of the volcano, the wide fronds of the elephant ears, the curving path of a lava-stream just past the trail they stand upon — and the memories of her youth dance through her mind. Wishbone laughs aloud; her voice is honey and whiskey, a potent combination of Tephra’s ash and feminine sweetness. “I was on a mission to summit the volcano in those days. My best friend always told me it was too dangerous, but I never listened to him.” Her windswept forelock falls across the gold marking detailed on her face as she swivels her eyes back toward Lilliana. “I guess I’m here to complete that mission and find some new adventures.”
@[lilliana]