08-21-2021, 07:41 PM
with rushing thread of brazen spindles.
She has been experimenting.
It had happened by accident the first time, as these things often do.
She had been thinking about the things she loved the most (her family) and the dark lines between her eyes had glowed deeper than they ever had before and she had suddenly (painfully) sprouted wings. (Soft, downy things that did nothing to lend her the gift of flight but seemed entirely ornamental.) Not only wings, but soft ringlets of a mane, too. Her tail had shortened considerably and her heart had expanded wildly in her chest until she had felt like it would burst free of its ribbed cage.
She had gone straight to her mother, who had patiently explained the magic to her. The third daughter truly was the embodiment of love, the creator of life.
She and the shadow wolf loiter beside the waterfall today, where she tries to call upon the downy wings at will and the wolf distracts her by chasing after tangible things that it cannot catch between its intangible jaws. So, she is a mane-less, wing-less thing when the other mare emerges and steps into the water.
She remembers what Aquaria had said when her family had first arrived in Ischia. She had said that there were others the girls’ age, but Neuna had never made any effort to find them. She had been too paralyzed by her grief for too long, but this young mare in the water seems to be about her age and she creeps closer, smiling brightly.
“Hello!” she calls above the roar of the waterfall, studying the young mare’s fins with delight, “my name is Neuna, what’s yours?” She has never had to introduce herself to anyone before and she hopes this is the correct way of going about it.
It had happened by accident the first time, as these things often do.
She had been thinking about the things she loved the most (her family) and the dark lines between her eyes had glowed deeper than they ever had before and she had suddenly (painfully) sprouted wings. (Soft, downy things that did nothing to lend her the gift of flight but seemed entirely ornamental.) Not only wings, but soft ringlets of a mane, too. Her tail had shortened considerably and her heart had expanded wildly in her chest until she had felt like it would burst free of its ribbed cage.
She had gone straight to her mother, who had patiently explained the magic to her. The third daughter truly was the embodiment of love, the creator of life.
She and the shadow wolf loiter beside the waterfall today, where she tries to call upon the downy wings at will and the wolf distracts her by chasing after tangible things that it cannot catch between its intangible jaws. So, she is a mane-less, wing-less thing when the other mare emerges and steps into the water.
She remembers what Aquaria had said when her family had first arrived in Ischia. She had said that there were others the girls’ age, but Neuna had never made any effort to find them. She had been too paralyzed by her grief for too long, but this young mare in the water seems to be about her age and she creeps closer, smiling brightly.
“Hello!” she calls above the roar of the waterfall, studying the young mare’s fins with delight, “my name is Neuna, what’s yours?” She has never had to introduce herself to anyone before and she hopes this is the correct way of going about it.
@Moira