It’s funny how something can have so many memories attached to it throughout one’s life that the oldest memories begin to be taped over. It’s not an ungrateful child, glancing over the label “BABY CLIPS ‘84” to record an episode of their favorite show that airs during their kid sister’s dance recital. It’s not someone grieving, desperate to rid themself of their memories. It’s deliberate. It’s slow. It’s starving yourself of all your necessities just to afford an extra tape, a little more space, some extra time. It’s choosing the least favorite, the least important, the least damaging parts of your life. Are the color of her eyes important? And what about the flowers your mother always grew in the spring? You can’t keep all of her but you must keep some.

It’s Mothers that make this world spin and spin and spin, year after year. He knows nothing other than a mother and the world she bore on her back. Within that world, Claudius and his siblings danced their lives away, safe and protected and far from the curse that’s chased them ever since he can remember. They have always ran, Claudius and his family; but Prayer was the fastest and the strongest, she bore the brunt of their fears and let the madness seek her instead of their children.

As Claudius has grown older, though, that curse grows more vivid—more real—everyday. He no longer dreams of tropical days spent in Tephra but of years spent mending scratches that will never heal. He dreams of all the hearts he is capable of breaking. He dreams of blood endlessly dripping crimson trails behind him. Sometimes, even in the daylight, he sees figures in the shadows—looming, their gazes pervasive. Sometimes he thinks he sees his father’s eyes, what little he remembers of them. And sometimes, there is the subtlest whispering in his ears just before he passes silently into sleep.

But it’s been so long since he has seen his father. And when the sun is out and warm on his back, it’s easy to forget the darkness lurking just around the corner. Claudius often loses what plagues him; he’s spent most of the day losing himself in the brightness of the day. As night creeps closer, though, his skin crawls with dread and his muscles tense in preparation.

A decided moodiness takes over Claudius’ countenance. His face appears taut and straight, a thin veil for the anxiety that whirls in his eyes. Brinly reflects in the tumult of of his clouded gaze, as bright and as comforting as the shadow-chasing sun. Claudius draws to her like moth to flame, nearly unwilling.

“Are you looking for company?”

I don't care is what Claudius has to bite back. If impulse controlled him, he'd let her know that he didn't care how far he would have to chase her, he would do anything to escape the dark. The hauntingly pale glow in his eyes sharpens as he fights the tension in his jaw, the twitching in his legs. His suffering is written plainly across his face, no matter how stoic he desperately tries to remain. There's a wretchedness so loud in Claudius' face that even he can sense how pitiful he must look. He sinks further into his foulness as he realizes how vulnerable he truly feels.

The fret eventually leaves him, but only after he turns his head to scan the shadows twisting around them. Claudius doesn't look at Brinly as he answers tersely, "No, I do not think it is odd to seek light in the darkness." He is certain his tone gives away how devastated he would be if she were to leave him with this clawing blackness. His eyes close in frustration and each of his breaths comes out between tight lips. Again he does not meet Brinly's eyes when he turns his face away from the coldness, back in the direction of her bright warmth. His eyes are glassy and distant as they trail over the gently crackling flames.

"My name is Claudius," the stallion finally says, forcing nonchalance. He finally flicks his stare up to the mare's eyes, anxiety barely masked in their periwinkle depths. "Do you prefer the dark?" he adds hastily, forming only half of a question. "I mean, since you carry so much light," he adds after a beat, seemingly embarrassed. A creeping envy bleeds into his tension, shivering through every bloodstream.