"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
she fell for the idea of him and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
There was a time when she was so hung up on the Beqanna of old that it was all she could think about. She would linger on the outskirts of the meadow or drift through the shadows of the forest just hoping and praying for a familiar voice, though she knew she would never hear it. Her nights were haunted by thoughts of kingdoms long since turned to dust, and romances and loves that may as well have died with them. Her days, back when her face bore scarred, empty sockets and she knew nothing but darkness, stretched just as endlessly as the nights, and she thinks she would have rather been dead than to keep living as the shell she had turned into.
She was alive, she knew because her heart would still twinge in her chest when she missed Skellig, but the numbness that gripped her mind led her to believe otherwise.
She has always been foolishly full of hope, though, and so she stayed.
She stayed until one by one they began to trickle back to her, lovers and friends alike. And she twined herself around every single one of them, greedy and selfish and too wanting for any kind of love and affection to know when she should stop. She sees her reflection on the glass-like lake of Hyaline almost daily and her throat tightens, because it is not just the outward changes (her impossibly dark eyes that Carnage had given back and the mark he left on her hip, and the soft glow of her halo and the gold-tipped wings that had been granted after that strange journey in the afterlife) but she is so certain that if she could see her heart, she would be disgusted by that, too.
How many times, she wonders, can she break it until it shatters – until she damages herself beyond repair, until she is no longer fulfilled by anyone or anything? Would she know just before she delivers that final blow, to give herself time to stop herself, or would she only realize it after the fact?
Lost in thought she walks through the forest, hardly paying attention to where she’s going. It’s not until she sees a flicker of pale gray that her mind diverts back to reality, blinking to peer through the sun-dappled shadows, until her eyes lock with hers and her pale lips lift into a smile. “You seem like you’re looking for someone, or, something,” she observes kindly as she draws closer, studying her face for a moment, though she knows it’s unlikely that she would look familiar – she spent well over half her life completely blind, and there were few left where she had ever known their faces. Still, it was a habit; Beqanna had such a strange way of drawing you back, after all.
ryatah
I'm excited you're back!! So I can't remember if they actually met, they were queens at the same time for a little bit so my guess is they would have at the very least known each other's names, idk. Either way sorry for the rambly starter, I'm bad when left to my own devices <3
How cruel that these lands feel so familiar to her, yet she finds herself lost at every turn. She is like a ghost trapped behind a veil, so tantalisingly close (so far away), unable to reach all that she knew. Sometimes she still thinks she can hear the rush of the cascading waterfalls, though she knows deep down it is only a trick of the wind.
It is gone. Her home, her kingdom. Her friends.
Her memory.
Her mind swirls and blurs and she cannot remember how she found Beqanna again, or what stirred her from her happily ever after. Her consciousness departed some time ago, and returned in the middle of a winding forest.
At first, she was excited to find her homelands again, and her heart tingled as she imagined her old kingdom was near. Then came the revelation. And suddenly, it all came down like a tidal wave: first the sadness, then the denial (could it be a bad dream?) and finally, the loneliness. It crashed upon her and swallowed her whole.
The forest has been kind to her since then, perhaps in sympathy of her despair. It provides food and water, and safety in the shadows where she can rest her weary mind. She cannot grow comfortable, though. She longs to find a fragment from her old world. There has to be something left. She finds herself searching, hoping, that there is someone who can help her find her way.
An angel?
Chasity is caught breathless as she happens upon the stranger. She looks like all that is magic and pure, with feathered wings and a golden halo, and a glowing aura that emanates from her snowy white coat.
Perhaps she is dreaming after all.
The mare smiles when they become close. There is something familiar in her smile that Chasity cannot place, but it brings her an inexplicable sense of comfort. Though the mare’s eyes are endlessly dark, her voice is gentle, and Chasity clings to its warmth. The mare may not have an answer for what is happening to Chasity, but if she has a cure for her loneliness, then she will grasp it with both hands.
“I think I just found it,” Chasity responds with a smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone here. At least, not anymore.”
She sighs, and the sadness threatens to rise within her again. But the mare’s aura is warm and kind, and as her gold tipped wings glisten in the dappled sunlight, Chasity’s tired mind finds solace. She has always been drawn to all things magical. And so, she gathers herself, and tips her head in a respectful bow.
“My name is Chasity. Perhaps you might like to walk with me?”
ooc: hello!! I was so excited to see your post! <3 I can't remember either, but I think it's safe to say they crossed paths in some way. PS. sorry for the lack of html and pretty things and I hope it doesn't sound too rusty haha.
she fell for the idea of him and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
There is so much of herself – or a past version of herself, at least – that she sees in the gray mare. The ghosts that swim in her eyes, the veil of loneliness that hangs around her like fog; that lingering hope that it isn’t going to last forever. That is what draws her to her more than anything, but it is the feeling of nostalgia that kept her here.
It was a difficult thing to place, but there was a kind of magic that seemed to follow those that existed over a hundred years ago. That was a different Beqanna, and though Ryatah was learning to love this new era (a lie – she missed everything about days long gone, it was only because she has filled her life with so many distractions that she is able to exist in a false sort of contentment), she could not help but to look for those that would remember the time before.
“I know that feeling,” she says with a short laugh, and a wistful smile. “You’d be surprised, though. No one ever really seems to leave Beqanna. You probably know more than you realize.” The smile turns into a sympathetic one, and as she adjusts her gold-tipped wings she settles in alongside her newfound companion. She is prepared to continue along the path she had been traveling, ready to settle into the easy flow of small talk that accompanied meeting strangers – something she rarely did anymore.
But she says her name, and it calls to a long-lost memory that rested forgotten in the back of her mind. “Chasity?” She repeats, testing it on her tongue as if that will help her remember. The name reminds her of forgotten kingdoms and discarded crowns, of valleys and dales and chambers that would never exist again. There is a spark of realization that lights in her eyes, and her smile finds a new radiance when she says, “You were queen of the falls. I remember you.” She laughs again, shaking her head and continuing apologetically, “Ryatah. I was queen of the dale for a time, but I looked much different back then.” She had still been vibrantly porcelain, but with those dark, scarred sockets that kept her from ever being conventionally beautiful; not like now, where beauty radiated from every part of her, but inside, she is sure she’s never been uglier. “Welcome back. You’ll find things are very….different.”
She ponders this for a moment, remembering the inhabitants of the Deserts and the warrior women who reigned the thick jungles. She recalls the kind hearted who lived among the Heavens Gates, and the creatures of darkness that lurked in the Valley. Names old kings and queens roll through her mind; Magdala and The Archer and Prague. She thinks of her children, Starwine and Starbane, and the grandchildren she never met. She thinks of friends. Family.
Could any of them possibly still be here, too? There is something in her companion’s smile that gives her hope. She clings to it tightly, and despite all doubts, she quietly hopes that she is right.
Chasity settles beside her new friend, ready to meander slowly through the winding forest, but she stops in her tracks when she realises who her companion is.
“Ryatah!” she exclaims, and she cannot disguise her excitement at finding this lost treasure from her past, for now she knows there is someone who remembers it all too. “Oh, it is so good to see you.”
Though she does not recognise the angelic mare, she knows the name of the former Queen well. She recalls visiting the mystical kingdom, forming bonds and alliances with its members between the dale’s sweeping slopes. Another reminder that things are…
“…different,” she repeats with a sad laugh. “Yes, they certainly are.”
She wants to ask about these new lands but she cannot find the words, because to speak of them is to accept that they are real, and if they are real, so is her existence in them. It could still be a dream (a nightmare?), a mistake; she could wake tomorrow and find herself in the old comfort of home. So, she buys herself just a little more time. She clings to the threads that connect her and Ryatah to the past, tangles herself in them.
“When I found my way back I was so excited to see my old home again. I didn’t know…” she trails off sadly, meeting her friend’s eye. “Do you miss it, Ryatah? The way things were?”
04-12-2020, 03:43 AM (This post was last modified: 04-12-2020, 03:48 AM by Ryatah.)
ryatah
I know when you go down all your darkest roads I would have followed all the way to the graveyard
She would never grow tired of finding those from the past; relics that made it easy to cling to nostalgia, just another reason for so many of her old wounds to never fully heal. She has never been very good at moving on from anything, and it showed in her willingness to make so many of the same choices (she was hesitant to call them mistakes, most of the time; mistakes hinted at regret, and rarely did she pause long enough for the regret to catch up to her) again and again. Chasity was another link to a time she frequently wished she could get back – or at least, she used to.
“I miss a lot of things,” she agrees as they pass through the dapples of shadow and sunlight, and there is a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. “I miss the valley, mostly.” Here she casts her companion a sideways glance, searching for the confusion that statement was often met with. “Many forget I originally lived in the valley, and not the dale. The dale was beautiful, and it shaped so much of me – but it wasn’t home.” There is a twinge inside of her chest as there always is when she thinks of the valley, but she won’t admit it is partially because her most recent memory of the lost kingdom was being tangled with Carnage in the illusion of it that he created. She won’t say that maybe she likes that version best.
“The new kingdoms aren’t too bad, though. But they will never be what we had before. Once I learned to accept that, it made it easier.” Truthfully, it mattered little to her what any of the kingdoms did. She had lost interest in political affairs long ago, and though she could still play the role of diplomat if it was asked of her, it wasn’t her ideal way of passing the time. “How have you been, Chasity?” She asks, casting her a cautious glance. She knows the other mare has been gone a long time, and she is not sure if that time spent has been kind to her. Ryatah knew all too well how strange and cruel life – and death – could be, and she also knew not everyone found it as unusually exhilarating as she did.
Her steps falter, surprised that Ryatah speaks of the Valley with such fondness. She remembers trouble brewing there under her reign. Whispers of war. That was why she chose Nikkai for the throne; her trusted General had more strength for conflict, was better able to protect their kingdom through those uncertain times.
Chasity smiles apologetically as the mare catches her in her surprise.
“I didn’t know you lived in the Valley,” she says curiously, and though her memories of the kingdom are tainted, her voice remains kind. The politics of those days are buried in the past, the threat of war a lifetime ago. They are one and the same now, both longing for a place they once called home. “I’m sorry it has gone too.”
She sees the sadness in her eyes and touches her muzzle to the mare’s shoulder, a moment of quiet comfort as they share bittersweet nostalgia.
“You have come further than me,” she admits, knowing that she is far from being able to accept this new life. “I hope you have found some happiness here, Ryatah. Have you been well?”
She is quiet for a moment as she thinks about the mare’s next question.
“I have been…” she hesitates, wondering how to take the confusion, the loneliness of the past weeks and turn it into words. How does she explain that when she reaches into her memory all she finds are swirling clouds of blackness? That she does not know how she ended up here again? She suspects that too many years have passed and she cannot make sense of it, still living and breathing when it feels like an age since the falls were her home.
“I have been lost,” she admits, and she laughs because she knows that doesn’t begin to explain it at all.
She doesn’t know how much to reveal to the mare. Though they are connected by their past she is almost a stranger. Still, Chasity is so relieved to have found someone she can relate with after these lonely weeks in the forest that she feels her troubles spilling over the edges.
“There’s a lot that I can’t… I don’t remember. I don’t know, Ryatah. There is a lot that doesn’t make sense right now.”
She glances awkwardly at the mare, then sighs, closes her eyes and—
she is walking down to the edge of the sea, seashells crumbling underfoot. It is twilight, her favourite time of day, when the light of the sun and the moon dance together and paint the sky in colour. The ocean calls to her, a gentle rumble as the tide flows through the sand. She breathes salty air deep into her lungs and—
her chest tightens and her hairs stand on end long after she opens her eyes again to the forest around them.
I know when you go down all your darkest roads I would have followed all the way to the graveyard
“I came here with Dhumin,” she explains, though she is not sure if Chasity would remember the stallion that eventually went on to rule the valley. “We were together before we came to Beqanna. The valley was his choice, and I just never left it.” She speaks of him lightly, refusing to let her tongue linger over the syllables, afraid that she will be able to taste the memories that lurk just below the surface of her subconscious.
She has let her heart tangle with more than most would; she is not careful, and she lets it be toyed with and broken, likes the feel of barbed wire and thorns digging into the tender flesh of it. But no one’s barbs were quite as deep as Dhumin’s. He would always be the first, no matter who came after. And now, he would always be the reason that she had been turned into an angel. She had gone to the afterlife, for him. And she had returned beautiful and changed, but alone.
Was she surprised? Not really. She would have followed him anywhere, but of course he would not do the same for her. She doesn’t think much has changed in that regard. There were different men to break her heart now, but the story was still the same.
Her dark eyes turn back to her companion with a sympathetic smile when she says she cannot remember much. That is a feeling Ryatah knows well. Anytime she was dead for too long – not the brief punishments dealt by Carnage, but real, timeless death – there was always that unyielding fog that took weeks to shake free of. She isn’t sure if Chasity had died; but it sounds like she did. “It gets easier. Things will start to clear up, and you will find a new normal.”
She pauses though when she sees the strange look that crosses her face. Her steps stall, and she reaches to touch her porcelain nose to her neck and ask her gently, “Are you alright?”
“Dhumin,” she repeats. “Yes, I remember that name.”
Chasity has only ever known one love. The Maker, the loyal stallion who would follow her to the ends of the earth. He would search for hours to gift her with the perfect pinecone; he would dance with her among the wildflowers, frolic with her in the snow. He was sweet and goofy and kind, and he held her heart safe. There were never any others, no flings or fleeting romances, no one to break her heart. The Maker was her childhood sweetheart, and (she believes, she hopes) they lived out their lives happily together.
As her memory of the seaside triggers in her mind, she remembers that he was with her that day. She had left him to take an evening stroll. She still remembers the peacefulness of the waves lapping against the shore, the brilliant colours that reflected across the sparkling ocean. She cannot understand why the thought now sends chills down her spine. What happened on that quiet beach? Her memory betrays her, but she is certain the moment is significant, somehow.
Ryatah’s concerned touch startles her from her troubled thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” she apologises, glancing away shyly. “Thank you, I’m okay, I just—"
A lone butterfly traverses the path in front of them, and she follows it with her eyes as it joins a kaleidoscope of its fine-winged friends. They have made a home at the edge of the path, among a scattering of flowers growing wild under the dappled sunlight.
“Oh,” she breathes softly, pointing her nose in the direction of the wildflowers. “Look, Ryatah.”
She watches the tiny creatures twirling and dancing, creating splashes of colour. Despite herself, she begins to smile. Chasity has always adored butterflies, and the sight of them fills her with an inexplicable sense of comfort. The seaside vision still itches at her, and the confusion and darkness are ever present in her mind. But for now, in this very moment, she can see some light.
“I will be fine,” she confirms, keeping her eye on the colourful butterflies, as if their brightness and innocence can shield her from all else. “I’m sorry you’ve had to run into me like this. I think you’re right. It will just take time.”
She realises she never knew the former Queen well, and she wishes she had taken the time to get to know her better when their kingdoms were still alive. She glances at the mare, with her pale wings and halo and glowing aura, and she smiles. Her world may be upside down, but if she has found just one friend in this confusing place, perhaps things will start to get better.
