And inside you're burning
with some secret yearning

The moon stretches its face high into the sky as the last streaks of pink and purple fade into navy, heralding the night to come. Her night. For that is what it is to the teal-tipped mare. The night has been a more faithful and constant lover than any other she has had. And the night brings the stars, their simple, eternal light singing quietly to her in a way nothing else ever would.

If she could live amongst them, she would do so in a heartbeat.

But alas, she is only a mortal creature, bound to this world by iron tethers. She would always rue the day that had decreed it so. The day that had given her such an ethereal and fleeting taste of those distant stars, and in so doing had denied her access to them.

She breathes in the cool night air, teal lids closing over silver-bright eyes as she basks in the feeble light of dusk. Today she wears curling horns upon her head and brilliant star-ridden wings upon her shoulders. It is how she brings herself close to those distant pinpricks of light, how she feels their majesty. She does her best to ignore the echoes of pain rippling through her belly, a certain foretelling of the birth to come.

She should know better by now. Indeed, she is entirely certain she could have avoided this. But the temptation was too great, and he had been such an easy and willing mark. How could a girl resist?

But this part. This part, she could do without. Would do without, should she have her way. She would simply have to be satisfied with admiration.

When the pain becomes too difficult to ignore, she sets out across the meadow. The young grass brushes against her hocks, tickling her sensitive skin as she seeks out a suitable place to bring this child into the world. A soft huff of breath escapes her lips as an especially strong contraction squeezes her sides, causing irritation to swiftly replace indifference.

She soon locates a small, somewhat obscure corner of the meadow and claims as her own. At least for the time being. In a few, short moments, a shield has been settled around her and she is struggling to bring life into the world.

Soon the girl is born, and Lirren is inspecting her closely as she cleans the birth from her skin. She is a bay color to match hers, but white roans her body to a dustier shade. And there, upon her forehead, is small nub. When she discovers this, she lifts her head in surprise. Well, that is certainly unexpected.

She has, it seems, a horn.

With a faint smile adorning her lips, Lirren lowers her head to whisper softly into the girl’s whispy mane. ”Darling Oricle. You are destined to be a surprise, I think.”

Lirren

starlit daughter of joythief and carnage

And inside you're burning
with some secret yearning

The stars twinkle in benign beauty high above in the velvet night sky. They shine down, wrapping her and her newest child in their cool embrace. Little does she realize that those cruel, callous things have gifted her youngest with their ethereal light.

She had never before considered that she might need to share her gift. That the stars are less discriminating than she had first imagined. She has never before met another who could wield their power in the way that she can. They have always been hers and hers alone. They shine their eternal light favorably upon her, gifting her with such unimaginable and untold power. To see that power manifest itself in another, in her own daughter no less, is a surprise to say the least.

The smallest kernel of jealousy settles in her heart, cold and unforgiving. Tendrils of that awful, tenacious beast snake through her skin, infecting her with a terrible feeling no mother should ever feel for their child.

But she feels it. She cannot seem to help it.

She does not prevent the girl from nursing, but when she settles against her in milk-fueled bliss, Lirren withdraws ever so slightly. Swinging her teal-tipped head around to the roan filly, she nibbles with deceptive softness along her whispy dark mane. Then, with deliberate intent, she aims a sharp nip at her bony shoulders.

”My sweet Oricle,” she whispers softly, almost soothingly, into the skin she had treated so harshly. ”Do not ever do that again. The stars are not yours.” Her tone is cooingly sweet, but the icy undertone is impossible to mistake.

Lirren

starlit daughter of joythief and carnage