"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Wayra wasn’t really sure what she was doing there. The Gates felt bright. It felt like a glittering pure jewel of light, hope and warmth. The blue girl shivered, and as usual, it wasn’t from the cold. The delicate green grass of heaven frosted beneath her hooves, and Wayra smirked ever so slightly, like the barest crack in an otherwise smooth statue.
The girl sighed. She hoped they realized she was not a prize anyone would hope for. She wasn’t important to the Chamber. She was just a ghost. She was the haunting of a bright sunny girl who no longer existed. Wayra wasn’t sure what they hoped to find, but it the girl who walked out of the Chamber was not the same girl who had walked in.
Wayra looked at at the grass, at the sky, at the sun, and wondered if she would miss the Chamber. Would she remember the tall towering pines with longing? Would she remember the place she had died? Wayra turned away from the sun and from that memory. It still haunted her, not in her dreams, when she could finally escape to black oblivion, but during the quite moments of her life. There were a lot of them recently, the quiet moments, and her thoughts aways wandered back to the past, back to when she had a future. The present was slow and unending, an icey in between state that she clung to like a spider on its web.
FAMILIAR BREATH OF MY OLD LIES CHANGED THE COLOR IN MY EYES
She's come, the sting of cold air permeates around the roan girl. The cool touch of winter's frost ices the Gates greenery. Wichita, however dark her pelt might be, radiated light, warmth, love. Love for most things, except herself. That was something she still had not overcome but she was adapting, accepting. And though some might call her captive, the silver dappled mare could not impose hostility to the icy female.
No, she had no intentions of prison life for her victory. As far as Wichita was concerned the girl would be treated as a guest for her stay, and the diplomat in her would see to that. She would still conduct herself as a lady, regardless of what might be expected of her. Yes, the Chamber had committed an unspeakable crime against them, but this girl-she was not the Chamber.
With a small, unsure smile, the Gates adept greets the young female. "Hey there sug, sorry 'bout all this. Really am, ain't nothin' against ya personally." The flaxen haired woman tries to ease the whole captive issue, really, she meant no harm. "Wayra right? I'm Wichita, don't know 'bout you, but it's nice ta meet ya, nice ta have ya here." She was really doing her best to give the snowy girl a warm welcome, her gold rimmed eyes falling to the girls feet. "Hey, that's a pretty nifty trick." She praises lightly, chocolate eyes admiring the light reflecting crystals that spread across the spring grass.
Of magic, the silvered mare knew very little. The only magician she had ever met had been missing for months now, his absence putting a great weight on the little kingdom. At this point she wasn't sure Jason was ever going to return home, wherever he might be. Heaven had grown rather lonely, a somber place for the outcasts of Beqanna. A catch-all for the broken, misunderstood, or unaccepted. Their tree, burnt up, poisoned and struggling to heal. The garden was sprouting again, but who knew what would grow from the spoiled soil. To top it all off, their Queen was abducted, and they were all shamed-like it or not.
The steal, though a small and perhaps insignificant triumph- meant a great deal to the little mare. She wasn't entirely useless and now she had proof of that. She had been uncharacteristically bold to make the attempt in the first place, but it was worth it.
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
With summer just beginning to kiss the Gates, it was surprising to feel the chill in the air—even more surprising when he sees its source. Tilting his handsome head, he watched as the mare walked beyond the border, every line of her body drawn up with the sorrow of her past. He understood the depth of that pain; hell, he had lived it after all. If anyone was going to understand just how difficult it was to swallow your past, it was him. He knew just how easy it was to let the traumas of yesterday swallow you whole.
In the same breath, he knew how you could overcome it.
Perhaps Wayra’s stay here wouldn’t be for nothing after all.
Making his way to the pair, he nodded toward them both. Wichita was, for the most part, an unknown to him, although he had seen her briefly at a few of the kingdom’s meetings. She seemed kind though, and for that he was grateful. Heaven could use all the kind souls it could find. By listening in (eavesdropping would be the correct term), he had gathered enough to understand the situation, and so he just gives a kind smile to Wayra. “Hello there,” just because his heart sometimes sung with the darker desires of stealing and challenges, it did not mean he didn’t empathize with the inconvenience of it, “My name is Magnus.”
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