"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
It was actually the best time to come back. They all ran around like chickens with their head cut off. OMG MY TRAITS. OMG MY LAND. Fickle ickle magic and dirt. That’s what they were worried about. Sure, he was super annoyed her couldn’t skeleton shift in front of random strangers. This was the golden opportunity for scaring the crap out of people. But other than that? What the hell does he have to mourn? What do any of them have to mourn?
They are alive and here and whatever.
He leaves the mountain soon enough, even though he could loiter there and keep popping up as a skeleton. But still, he can only take so much of the drama happening up on that big ass hill. It’s more than he cares to deal with, honestly. He is, clearly, nothing like his family. His Queen of Chamber mother or his Mistress of Death sister or his Stick in the Mud brother. They all had such a sense of duty. They cared so damn much for some trees and dirt. Korbin? Yea, whatever man. Life was wherever he took it.
So he takes it to the meadow. Looking for nothing in particular except possibly pretty girls. It’s been way too long since he’s seen girls that weren’t related to him and oh, OH, there were so many here. Why hadn’t he come back sooner? The sheer number of girls is enough to actually make him wonder why he stuck to his life of reclusion for so long.
Ah well, no use dwelling in the past. There are girls everywhere, so he might as well make the most of the future.
korbin
but the skeleton always gets up and walks
Rogue herd, if people are interested. Also, according to Korbin, he'd actually just like to meet some girls.
Harmonia is one of those who cared.
Deeply.
About the change of the magic.
She was born with her magic. She let it cloak her, hide her cunning and her wit. She used it like a shield, a way to guard herself from the realities of the world. She'd never age, not in these few centuries. She had control over herself, entirely. And - her most favorite part - she could cause trouble. She'd done it plenty of times - flooding or drowning kingdoms out of spite, trading gifts for favors, bewitching children and stealing them. She was no stranger to this.
Surgery clung to her side through this debacle, unsure what to make of it all. His mother's magic (he did not know this) kept him perpetually a foal, even though he was born years ago. All spindly limbs, a mouth that didn't quite work, a vapid expression on his face. Now that her magic was gone he felt...clear. His mouth didn't feel sealed shut and heavy. His bones, which ached to grow, felt longer and longer each day. He was taller than his mother already, her short stature not entirely a feat.
He wanders from her - something he physically couldn't do before - and finds the stallion. "H...hi." It is air, it is a gasp, it's barely a whisper in his unsued throat. Harmonia hears it with a acuity of any mother and snaps her head around ,eyes blazing. In less than three seconds she's cleared the distance and ushered the foal away from him. Her actions are quick, reckless...she's vascilating between keeping her typical dumb demeanor or letting that wicked tongue fly.
Instead she is silent, helplessly trying to herd off a child much larger than her, who is too intent on walking toward the stallion to care.
harmonia. surgery.
when the pied piper calls, you come
