Delicate things are pretty - cute, even,
but you are not delicate.
You are wild and lewd and unpredictable.
You are breathtaking.
You are beautiful.

Sometimes life is difficult, even when someone is born special. Like me. Once upon a time, long ago, I thought life would be easy. A breeze, something to enjoy, a time for love and happiness with no pain or worry. It is that, but it is so much more. Of course, I was a child then.

I am not a child anymore, not by a long shot. I thought I would have friendship and ease back then, but I have found both to be rarer than I had once imagined. I have discovered that friendships come and go, that life is far more a roller coaster than a simple, easy slide. Would that it were, for I would certainly be much further along in life.

Instead I have found those incredible highs, only to be dropped back so low I wonder if I shall ever rise again. Of course, I always do. Life is always moving forward. One can never go backwards, and that is something I am grateful for every single day. Especially for a woman like me, in my rather unique position.

You see, I am something a bit different. Special, as I mentioned before. Unique and beautiful and singular. Unfortunately though, not everyone sees it like that. The thing is, I have a third eye. Right there, in the very center of my head, for all the world to see (and for me to see all the world, but that is quite beside the point). It’s hard to see past sometimes.

Or perhaps, it’s simply hard for me to see past.

In any case, I am here, in the meadow once more. Try and try again, or so the saying goes. And I will keep trying forever, if that is what it takes.

Giohde

Delicate things are pretty - cute, even,
but you are not delicate.
You are wild and lewd and unpredictable.
You are breathtaking.
You are beautiful.

Fall is a beautiful, bountiful time of year. It is one of my favorite times, though not nearly so favored as spring. The changes are what I find so fascinating, the shifting from one to another. Like me, a metamorphosis that is impossible to define but beautiful to witness.

But the fall colors, those are my colors. The brilliant hues of gold and russet and amber. The perfect setting for the lovely mottled gold of my coat, the sleekness of my black tresses, the purity of the white perforating it all. A brilliant combination that complements me in ways few things ever could. All things I can see so easily, can admire in ways others can’t.

And there, just before me, is another such creature. A creature of vibrant red and glistening black. For whatever reason, I am drawn to those colors, the stark and brilliant contrast that cannot help but to draw the eye. And when one has an extra eye to draw, it is all the more noticeable.

At first I do not think too much of it, she is just another passing figure, albeit one that draws the attention. But then the ember is approaching me, and I am intrigued. Would she behold my true beauty, or would she mock me like so many before her (though I know it is only the thoughts of small minds, it stings nevertheless). Instead, she asks me a question. Something no one has ever thought to ask before.

In my surprise, I give the only answer I can think of on such short notice. “Everything.” But then, as the bewilderment settles, I reconsider my answer. In the end though, I leave it as it is, for it is, in essence, true. Instead, I offer her a smile, one winsome and true. “I see you. Who are you?”

Giohde

Delicate things are pretty - cute, even,
but you are not delicate.
You are wild and lewd and unpredictable.
You are breathtaking.
You are beautiful.

For a few, quiet moments, I trace the way red marbles with black, the way her bright tresses flicker like firelight in the golden rays of the sun. It really truly is lovely, and I particularly enjoy lovely things.

She surprises me though. Surprises me with her unbridled acceptance. She is curious of course, but who wouldn’t be? I am a curiosity, even in a world of curiosities. But instead of recoiling at my rather blithe, uninformative reply, her curiosity is piqued. In return, so is mine.

Blinking my eyes, several times, I pause a moment to stretch my muzzle forward. Shaking my head, black tresses flying wildly, I brace myself as the shudder passes along the entirety of my body, gold and white skin shivering in the invigorating, energizing shimmy I had just forced along my body.

Black lips stretching into a grin, I turn my widened gaze back to the young red and black mare still waiting on me, my dark locks a wild halo around my neck. After a moment, it occurs to me that she may be put off by my odd behavior. Lord, I sure hope not. I do not have enough friends. It is a rather lonely existence without friends. But I put that aside, instead pinning her with my wide, captivating gaze. “Well, Merida of Loess, I am Giohde. Of, um, well, nowhere really. But that doesn’t matter much, I hope.” My odd eyes fair twinkle, my head tipping slightly as I consider her further. “What matters is who we are, don’t you think?”

Giohde

Delicate things are pretty - cute, even,
but you are not delicate.
You are wild and lewd and unpredictable.
You are breathtaking.
You are beautiful.

In some ways, a physicality could be just as powerful, just as potent, as the intangible. My eye, though it is mere a physical anomaly, lends me a knowledge and insight that few, if any, others possess.

In truth, I've never had to consider in any depth the anomaly I present. Oh sure, I know I'm odd. Strange and unique and altogether different, but that is not to say I have given it much thought before. Had the mare stepped outside the bounds of propriety and asked directly of my additional eye, she would have found me quite receptive to the discussion. I am quite given to introspection anyway, and that is a conducive question.

Of course, she had not, so instead I smile benignly at her, matching her gaze for fiery gaze, blissfully unaware of thoughts of fairies or blessings or whether one might be deserving or not (indeed, my thoughts are limited on this subject anyway. What can I say, the fairies are fickle creatures).

Instead she continues the conversation in the same vein as before, and this new question intrigues me. “Hmmm.” For several long minutes, that is the only sounds that escapes me lips.

Ducking my head a bit, I tilt it this way and that, my body swaying side to side, neck stretching and head swinging out as I seek better angles. No doubt I look quite strange, though at the moment, the thought doesn't occur to me. Finally, I tuck my head back in, body stilling as my gaze seeks hers once more.

“You are many things,” I finally add, voice softly pensive. “Like fire. You don't just look like it, you feel like it.” After another moment of staring, I shrug, a lazy lifting of my shoulders. “I can't really tell you more beyond that.”

Giohde

Delicate things are pretty - cute, even,
but you are not delicate.
You are wild and lewd and unpredictable.
You are breathtaking.
You are beautiful.

It certainly would be nice if I could read people as though they were books. See the shape and color of their thoughts and feelings. Much much easier too, I suspect. Alas, I am not so lucky. I have an extra eye, but it lends me only sight. An unusual sight, to be sure, but certainly nothing supernatural. No, the reading of people is far more practice than gift. It is easy enough to see what is inside people if one knows what to look for.

Still, I always run the possibility of being wrong.

But this girl, she seems rather nervous about what I might see in her. I suppose it is rather vain of me to let her continue believing I am more than I am. But a girl has to have some mystery, doesn’t she? And, I mean, it does feel rather nice to have someone caring about my opinion, caring about more than just my physical appearance. I am more than just my extra eye, after all.

For a moment, I feel a bit chagrined as she steps forward, uttering that single word. Curious… and silently I think “Is it?” But I don’t say anything, and she is continuing, asking me about what I see. Or, well, she seems to think its feelings, which makes sense. I had been a bit vague. But then, I’d really had no choice. I can’t actually see much in truth, and other than what impressions I had been left with, I had little else to go on. Of course, everything I had said is true, but it is more of a vague sense of feeling rather than anything I truly saw.

Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into? I seem to have a rather bad habit of doing that.

“Hmm, no, not really,” I respond thoughtfully, my amber gaze going a bit distant. “It’s more just a feeling. You know, like, that’s kinda what you feel like. Like a wayward tongue of flame, a bit wild and ephemeral and unpredictable.” I pause before sighing, my unusual gaze focusing upon her once more. “I’m not really sure how else to describe it.”

Giohde