Love looks not with the eyes[Porcia, Hestia]

[Hestia]

She hears a voice, one she isn’t all that familiar with, but it triggers something. It reminds her of someone. Hestia isn’t sure where she can place it, but she knows that voice faintly. Slowly she comes from her sleep in the caves. Alone. Again. Never alone Hestia, Oblivion’s sickening words creep through her mind. She snarls her displeasure at the creature. Her ears pinning back to her skull Shut the fuck up, the words drip hate from her lips as they do from her mind to his, and a laugh burns out from him. It’s disturbing how emotionless it is. How very demonic Oblivion is.

She shakes out her mane and any of the remaining fog of her sleep from her head. Disgruntled from the disturbing creature at her side, who’s every breath can be heard from the flapping of it’s scarred cartilage that had been bit and ripped at it’s birth. She can’t hate Oblivion as much as she wants to. She fears what it might do to Porcia if given the chance.

She’d gotten back late in the night from the settling of the voting. Very few were upset with the shift in leadership. It was just as Hestia thought, something was off in Ischia and she finds herself glad of the decision she made. Others may not see what she does, but her reasons are her own, and now she is certain of the path they follow. She is yet to be made aware of the other changes in Beqanna, and has spent the morning hours drifting in and out of restless sleep.

Leaving the comfort of the cave is easy as it is empty harsh and cold without the warmth of another to be by her side. One in particular that she often finds herself thinking of causes an ache to form in her chest that Hestia finds to be more disturbing than Oblivion. All in all the black mare is not happy right now and everything is irritating to her. Could she not have five minutes to lay her head for a rest in the very least? Climbing up the path though she spots a bouncing black and white filly whom she is all too familiar with. Her ruffled feathers are soothed to some degree, and she approaches the two slowly.

On seeing him she remembers, and her lips press together thinning. Something about him… Even if it’s only his fear of her, it makes her suspicious of him. Her green eyes slit slightly saying nothing but reaching out to greet the gleeful girl she’s come to think of as a daughter. Porcia, the name is spoken as warmly as the PO’ed queen can muster. Though there is a tiredness in how her head doesn’t lift all the way, and her eyelids make the green of her eyes look dull and slightly grumpy. She sizes him up, her mouth hardens not to make some snarky comment just to send him running scared out of her borders. For Porcia’s sake she would try to be nice.

HESTIA

The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm
I whispered back, I am the storm

@[Eros] @[Porcia]