holy water cannot help you now. a thousand armies couldn't keep me out.
I don't want your money. I don't want your crown.
The Void called its children, rippled and shuddered, and she felt the way the air thickened and all the world around her froze. Black and endless, a chasm of brittle rocks and fading stars… a place devoid of gravity and time- where the ancient bones of the first brood lay buried beneath the shadows and dust: Beqanna’s own shadow, a graveyard.
She navigates it, walks and wades, and in the end there is light; but one she knows all the well and while… familiar.
Like a newborn she steps upon the earth, upon the soil, and fresh from birth her legs wobble and her body shudders in the air. Yet? It is not strange, no no, this is what she remembers: solid ground and waving grasses- the scent of dew and morning and the sight of the sun rising as the moon set beneath the horizon.
Wine and golden champagne splashing the sky and stars fading into clouds as blues and silvers and grey swept through the sky, and she smiles when she sees it; but not out of love. Brittle and strange she finds the grasses and twigs snapping beneath her hooves as she drifts and weaves- attunes herself to the world as it is and the gravity bearing down upon her.
Sevda, as her mother called her, is a wicked thing: beautiful and dark- painted perfectly golden and soft with curves and feminine grace… with silver and white curls in her mane and tail; but glossy reflections of ice also exist there… shards and strands.
Unmelting and wild she tosses it back and stretches, her chest burning as hunger and thirst return to her and she finds herself smiling at the reflection in the puddle. Malicious and cold, her pale blue eyes do little to hide the frigid notes of her stare; but with time she changes. Mutable and manipulative she hides away the darkness and presents instead- sun and smiles, wonderment and all the world’s naivety.
Beneath that same sky her skin begins to heat and she finds herself resting beneath a tree, idle in the wild roses and grass- observant and quiet as she explores and observes: as she seems to be graceful and waifish in how she expresses tender ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’...
Oh Father, she thinks, oh Father how thou should fear.
Sevda
see, I've come to burn your kingdom down