and he told me i was holy;; cordis.

[elve]

it's strange what desire will make foolish people do.

When the silver mare speaks, it is as if the world falls away. This power, this lightning, it could be her salvation. Cordis could be her saviour. And as the mare tells her story, the green-and-red filly lets her imagination run, the endless possibilities, the future that she could have with this protector by her side.
She may realise one day that this mare could do more terrible things than the golden stallion could ever dream of.
She is still so young and so self-centered and she still believes that her history is the worst history. Better things must be coming, she has thought to herself, and she is already convinced that Cordis is one of those better things. She has blocked the other options from her mind, because she can see no sense in allowing herself to be scared of everything.
Perhaps being scared would be best.

The story is short, full of holes and unspoken words and thoughts, but Elve only focuses on what she hears, not what she doesn’t. She hears an end to the nightmares; if the monster is burnt, surely she will no longer see flashes of him, hear those dragging, scraping sounds that crawl along her spine (she is too young to know that the nightmares never truly leave - even if the monsters die). Without him in the world, she can begin to find her way; she will never let herself be captive like that again (she is already a prisoner to Cordis, though she does not realise it; she is trapped by the possibility of escape).

Elve wants to hear Cordis promise. She wants to know that she will not turn back on her words, that her protector will truly save her - that is all the filly wants. “Do you mean it?” she asks quietly, nervously, the question slipping through tight lips. “Will you promise me?”
Elve still believes that promises can never be broken.
She has so much to learn.

ELVE

[Cordis]

She is not meant for this – is not meant to wield such power is she does. Magicians are supposed to be loyal things, powerful creatures that changes lives, change worlds.
All she does is drape herself in lightning and wonder what it is to burn.
It’s a mistake – so much of her is – and one she can’t correct.

What she doesn’t tell her – and what the girl doesn’t ask – is that monsters don’t die. They brand you; haunt you, live in between every rib. That there is no reversing this, the die is cast, the epitaph carved.
Because she’s no better off, now. Now, she’s free (but she isn’t); now, she’s magical (but she’s weak), and all she has is memories – a whole stockpile of them – and these memories are why she wraps herself in lightning, why she lives adrift, why she can’t forget that golden woman’s name.
(Why she looked back, once.)

Redemption has always been a laughable idea, a thing of stories and little else. She is not a creature meant for such, not when she sat marinated in His lair, not when she’s died a dozen times over.
She sees herself in this girl and it terrifies her.
Because the girl looks at her and always promises redemption, which is a dangerous path and one she is damned to never walk upon.
Still, she is nodding, she is lying (is she?).
“Yes,” she says, “yes.”
Promises are foolish things, and she is a fool to make them, but that has never stopped her.

I’ll touch you all and make damn sure

Cordis

that no one touches me