Brinly
She cannot hear the torrent of thoughts in the other mare’s mind, but she can almost read them in the way the air grows quiet after her own voice has faded away. She can almost hear the way she is considering the question, but not even Brinly fully understands the gravity behind what she had asked. To anyone else, it could have seemed a simple question with a simple answer – yes, it hurts, or no, it doesn’t hurt. But she knows it’s not quite so black and white, even without knowing the emotional pain she accidentally stirred for the stranger.
Or at least, for her it’s not so stark, but, again, no one has ever asked her. No one asked her if it hurt to burn anyone that might get close, no one asked her if it hurt to be isolated and alone. No one asked, because she made sure no one ever felt the heat of her skin. She made sure no one had a reason to care.
But if they ever did, she would be able to tell them the internal heat is not what hurts.
“Protects you,” she repeats what the silver mare says, the words quiet and thoughtful, and almost immediately her mind begins to churn. She had never thought of it in that sense. She had never flipped to a version in her mind to see the curse as a sort of strength – a way to keep others from hurting her, as if her sharp tongue and uncouth personality wasn’t already enough to drive most away. But for so long she had only worried about accidentally hurting others. Perhaps she has gone about this the wrong way.
When another approaches, every muscle in her body goes rigid with tension.
Her dark brown eyes flit to the golden mare, and instinctively she steps backwards – one, two, and then three steps. Whatever muted curiosity the lightning had generated is immediately washed away, leaving just an edged indifference in its wake. She can feel her adrenaline begin to surge, and she wills her heart to stop beating so rapidly in her chest. Conversations were hard for her. Her defensive mannerisms were rarely well-received, and she didn’t see this ending well – for her.
The apology from the newcomer never registers in her mind, but she is dimly aware that she is speaking. Slowly, she rouses her attention from within herself and back to reality, just in time to hear the first mare say Cordis. She doesn’t repeat it back, but she nods, and after a beat of hesitation she says quietly, “Brinly.”
And then, silence.
She didn’t know how to carry a conversation without accidentally inciting anger in everyone involved.
— burn until our lives become the embers —