Myrna suffocate the fire  i started-------------------- right when it kindles The rain blurs the seasons together, bursts and showers watering the ever-blooming Gates, the downfalls dimming briefly - but never intently - the brilliant colors around her. Bright and blurred, time passes by, summer in autumn, year into year. Myrna, wearing a pair of sapphire blue pegasus wings, watches a storm fade with the sun over the western sea, and knows the evening ahead will be a rare dry one. An empty one too, she thinks as she turns east toward the darkening hills. Ravin and Luvi are no longer foals in need of her comfort, and the few friends Myrna has are occupied this evening with their own families and past times. It should be peaceful, she knows. She should be content. There is nothing she might wish for that she does not already have. She no longer even wishes to change the past, knowing that to change it would be to lose what she has now. There is no place she wishes to go, no magic she wishes to possess, no power she desires to wield. It is as if that thought makes the crown she wears weigh just a little heavier, the leaves and florals drooping amongst her spiral horns. Myrna lowers her head, slipping it off with an ease she knows must be the crown’s magic. She is a queen because she must be, and the sense of responsibility that keeps her wearing the flower crown is the one thing that keeps her from knowing true happiness. There will come a day when she finds someone to pass it to, someone who wants it. For now though? For now she glances at the waxing moon in the clear sky, growing brighter as the sky dims. When she looks down, a pair of eyes the same shade as the sky overhead meet hers. She is not as alone this evening as she had thought, it seems. “Ruhr,” she says by way of greeting. “Viszla,” he replies. The name no longer sounds strange on his lips, not after all these years. She knows the story now, has pieced together her fragmented memories with what the Moon had shown him. No one else calls her that, and she prefers it that way. She’s not sure which of them takes to sky first, but the Stratosian outpaces her as swiftly as he always does, looping back around to fly silently beside her as she sweeps upward. The wind streams through her flaxen mane, whistling past her spiral horns, carrying with it the scent of distant lands - not the floraled earth beneath her. For many hours they fly together, until the stars shine brightly in the sky, and Myrna’s worries remain bound to the earth far below. But she cannot escape them forever, and when the muscles of her wings begin to ache, she begins to descend, spiraling down and down and down into the night-dark Gates. Her heart is still thundering in her chest as she lands, her wings disappearing into her sides as she retakes her natural shape, her hooves touching down amidst the loamy soil and lavender. Ruhr is less graceful in his landing, his gait stilted by an old limp, but the pain she knows that he still sometimes feels doesn’t show in his expression as he turns his head to face her. There is a familiar invitation in his eyes, the same one she often accepts after such flights. Myrna breathes deeply of the blossom filled air, and with a glance to her floral crown rests, decides to put off accepting the weight for a little while longer. ooh; so tornai and mirai have an ic reason to exist!