[open] Hell is Empty and the devil is here

[Melinoë]

Hell was empty, and she was free. A child born into darkness, she'd grown familiar with the haunted shadows that lurked there. There were not many memories of light that occupied her memories. Her mother, the bringer of snowmelt, had not cared to take her youngest child with her into the realm of the mortals. Instead, Melinoë had become a child fully of her father's making - a foal who toyed with the dead and feasted on their guilt in dying. Darkness did not offer up much by means of entertainment, and her mother did not approve of her daughter's budding interests. Perhaps that was what had set her apart from her other siblings. That, or she was the child neither of her parents had wanted. Thoughts such as though were powerful enough to destroy even the strongest of minds - but she had not let it. Finding solace in the friends she had found in her father's subjects, she created a world of her own imagination. In her own little mind, she was a being as powerful as her father. Worthy of respect and fear. Emerging from the water depths within which she had been dumped by her father's wrath, it was all too apparent that her beloved parents had wanted to see her drowned. Her determination was not easily snuffed out. Breaking through the surface Melinoë gasped in sharp lungfuls of crisp wintery air. Her mother was with her father, thus the land had been cloaked in sorrow at its parting of her. The cold did not touch the mare, even as it stung her wet pelt and dried her eyes. Pawing her way to the shore, her limbs shook with exhaustion as she finally found the footholds to stand. Dripping she glowered towards the vast forest set before her, its depths as unwelcoming as her father's deathly river. At that moment, she would have chosen to take a dip with dead than to face the path set out before her. The fact remained a cold truth, she could not go back. She was no longer welcome. So forward she set out. Dripping wet, little puddles gathered around her hooves creating little pools in her wake. She did not care to shake off the excess of moisture, it's tickling trails reminded her that she was still capable of feeling. Bathed in shadow, the canopy overhead did little to alleviate her discomfort and, without her magic to hide behind, she was naked to the forces that might set about her. Nearly destroyed by uncertainty her options were limited, even as she forced herself to learn what land had the misfortune of her arrival. "She talks" | Tags:

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