She’s been irritable as of late. It’s not the sort of sullen silence that she is comfortable with. This is a darker mood. One that festers and builds under the skin till it is all she can think on. Part of it is the restless nights in cold, dank caves with a scaly little shit who never parts from her side. Oblivion’s become almost an extension of herself in the demon’s habits of listening and speaking in her mind. The thing has replaced that vile little voice who’d taken over her head. This eyeless little bastard has consumed her thoughts distracting her from her… children. She wants to say, her own, but the black hag has come to begrudgingly consider this her child as well so she can’t shun it in that way.
She should be well adjusted to these odd situations by now, one would think that the queen would have just shrugged this one off and moved on. This is nothing new. She’s been tethered to another before. She’s had a voice who knew all before, she’s experienced worse fear than this thing could ever vibe her way. This is different though, Oblivion feels different. More dangerous, more knowing, as if it just eludes that she has control. Like it is just content with following her around. What if it stops being okay with just that? Her green eyes flick around looking for the scaly beast that would, in its odd way, laugh at her trifles. It’s not around right now, so there is no sarcastic voice to mock her. The little monster is probably off torturing Wishbone or Porcia or one of the many other inhabitants in Nerine. A knot tightens and threads itself in the pit of her stomach at this. Her lips thinning into a straight line.
She’s standing by the waves the foam lapping at her front hooves. There is someone else that has her tail whipping against her black hide stinging the skin beneath each thwack. That male -no- Murc, still she can’t manage to forget his name. The fucking idiot – a moment - was it just a moment? Her lashes flutter against ebony cheekbones breathing in that sweet and spicy musk as if he is there wrapping her up just as he had right before she’d walked away. She still remembers the anger, the chasm she felt rip open when turning from him. She remembers the shard of ice that tinged her soul when she began walking away.
All the things that have happened since that day, every time she looks over her shoulder thinking she can feel the lavender gaze roving over her. Every time the shuffle of approaching horses sends a jolt through her chest hoping, dreading that it’s him. Murc, her eyes snap open, even now. She’d not seen him at the meeting, though he could have easily been hiding in the crowd that filled the space around her. Easily he could have been there, and she’d not have noticed if he’d tried to hide himself. Or he could have simply left that day. She’d not been pleasant company, never is really. But she’d been especially unpleasant towards him that day. The black mare wouldn’t blame him in the least if he’d decided somewhere else would make a better home for him.
All the things that had happened between then and now, her mind so occupied with politics and… well other than those moments of uncertainty she’s not had time to think on him really. Though she feels the cold of her cave more acutely now. The suffocating presence of that thing shadows her closer every day. It’s all because of Murc, her irritability and darker moods that is. She’d forgotten, and been happy with forgetting, but he reminded her, and now it ticks at the back of her mind. All the what if’s, you should’s, and worst of all the nagging ideas of the possibilities that are all right within her grasp.
HESTIA
The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm
I whispered back, I am the storm
@[Murc]
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