01-09-2020, 12:52 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Allan|Playfair+Display|Rosario" rel="stylesheet"><link href="fonturl" rel="stylesheet"><style>#brazen{width:600px;border:1px solid #d8d4d3;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #898584;background:url('https://i.postimg.cc/rF53fRcX/BrazenBG.jpg');background-size:600px;position:relative;}#brazenname{margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;z-index:2;position:relative;font-family: 'Playfair Display', serif;font-size:70px;text-transform:uppercase;color:#394956;}#brazenwrapper{position:relative;z-index:0;width:500px;background:#d8d4d3;border:1px solid #312c32;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #312c32 inset;margin-top:-100px;margin-bottom:0px;padding-bottom:1px;padding-top:90px;opacity:0.8;}#brazentext{width:450px;color:#45403a;font-size:14px;font-family: 'Rosario', sans-serif;}#brazenpic{position:relative;z-index:1;margin-top:0px;}#brazenquote{color:#394956;font-size:18px;font-family: 'Allan', cursive;line-height:16px;}hr.brazenname{width:100px;background:#394956;height:2px;border:0;}</style><center><div id="brazen"><div id="brazenpic"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/x1CGcB6x/Brazen.png" width="600px"/></div><div id="brazenwrapper"><p id="brazenquote">cold in the violence after the war<br/>hope is a fire to keep us warm</p><p id="brazentext" align="justify">It’s difficult to say how Brazen might respond if she knew she were being watched, her every action tallied. Another mark on a scorecard. Or, maybe it isn’t so difficult. After all, she had grown to adulthood beneath the long-reaching, watchful gaze of her own mother. Anyone who could claim Heartfire as a mother quickly grew accustomed to being watched.
Perhaps that’s why she has to wonder when the other shoe might drop. She had grown up knowing power, even if she did not have much of it herself. And anyone who had the ability to drag someone here like this must have a reason to do so. What that reason is though, she can only guess.
In a way, it’s almost anti-climactic, the horse simply appearing between the pillars she had just stepped back from. Of course, had she any idea what was coming, she might not have had that thought. But what abilities she’d had, even before they’d been stripped from her, had certainly not included a predilection towards insight or foresight.
She blinks, the familiarity of the figure striking her immediately. Moments later, recognition.
<b>“Brinly?”</b> she asks, the confusion quickly shifting into excitement. She should have known better, of course. But youth and naivete blind her. <b>“Were you….”</b>
Her voice trails off as her gaze catches on the glowing red ring shrinking towards them. That ominous light stretches, reaching up until the pair are entirely encased in an eerie red dome. A tendril of dread begins to swell inside the hollow of her stomach. Frowning, she turns her troubled gaze back to her friend. She is washed in a haze of crimson. A light that seems to accentuate the beautiful lines of her face as they twist in a vicious expression, a shriek tearing from her lips as she charges Brazen.
<b>“Wait, Brinly,”</b> she begins with an almost desperate mix confusion and foreboding as she contorts herself to avoid fiery skin. <b>“WAIT!”</b>
Brinly doesn’t listen of course. But then, some part of Brazen had feared she wouldn’t. After several more swift spins to avoid Brinly and desperate pleas that fall on deaf ears, Brazen has had enough. With bared teeth and pinned ears, she meets her head on this time, her unprotected body crashing into Brinly, skin sizzling as she drives her backwards. Gritting through her teeth while trying to ignore the pain, she gasps <b>“<i>This… isn’t… you.</i>”</b>
Then, as she falls back in the face of that gruesome heat, it clicks.
It. Isn’t. Brinly.
Abruptly, her expression shutters. Blue eyes lighting with the sudden anger kindling inside her, she narrows her gaze on the Brinly imposter. When she speaks again, her voice is low and controlled despite her rising emotion. <b>“Who are you?”</b>
Though she had not truly expected an answer, the lack of one serves to bolster her furious resolve. And as Brinly charges once more, it is not the face of her friend she sees, but that of a deceitful enemy.
Brazen waits, shifting, turning, ducking her shoulder as she side-steps to avoid the charge. It’s easy to ignore the pain of her burned skin. She has been ignoring pain for years. And as she leans into the momentum, turning until her hindquarters are aligned almost perpendicularly with Brinly, she lets loose a furious barrage of battering kicks. She doesn’t stop until her hocks and fetlocks burn, the white hair singed away, leaving her skin raw and exposed.
This seems to do little to slow the imposter however. Despite favoring her battered quarter, she turns to face Brazen once more, the empty, bloodthirsty expression still on her face. With a sinking sensation deep in her gut, Brazen suddenly fears that this would not end until one of them lay dead on the ground.
For all that her mind screams at her that this is not Brinly, her heart rebels. Even though she knows that this cannot be her friend, it is so clearly her face. The line she trembles upon now is much too narrow, and Brazen suspects there would be no returning once she crossed it.
In the end, the choice is not made by her. As Brinly once again charges, Brazen’s world narrows. It’s a familiar sensation, that suppression of nearly all thought and emotion. She has striven to find it every time she runs until exhaustion forces her to stop. And as it settles over her now, leaving room only for action and instinct, she knows what must be done.
Her breathing steady, she shifts, almost inviting Brinly to crash into her. In the moments before their skin meets, she drops her shoulder and ducks her head. Leaning into Brinly’s momentum, she watches almost dispassionately as the curling point of one of her new horns swings up with a jerk of her head before coming into contact with Brinly’s exposed neck.
In the next moment, they collide, impossibly fiery skin meeting the rawness of her own. Pain explodes through her even as a sudden weight drags her down. With a sob, she collapses, everything she bundled aside moments earlier crashing through her with brutal mercilessness.
It takes her a few tries to pull her horn from Brinly’s neck. <b>“I’m sorry,”</b> she whispers, the refrain a mantra in her mind and on her lips. She barely notices the blood that gushes across her neck and face, or the tears that track through, mingling almost poetically. Nor does she notice the impossible heat slowly leaching from Brinly’s body as it settles in death against Brazen’s ravaged skin.</p><hr class="brazenname" align="left" style="margin-bottom:-50px;margin-top:50px;margin-left:26px"><p id="brazenname">Brazen</p><hr class="brazenname" align="right" style="margin-top:-50px;margin-bottom:50px;margin-right:26px"></div></div></center>
Perhaps that’s why she has to wonder when the other shoe might drop. She had grown up knowing power, even if she did not have much of it herself. And anyone who had the ability to drag someone here like this must have a reason to do so. What that reason is though, she can only guess.
In a way, it’s almost anti-climactic, the horse simply appearing between the pillars she had just stepped back from. Of course, had she any idea what was coming, she might not have had that thought. But what abilities she’d had, even before they’d been stripped from her, had certainly not included a predilection towards insight or foresight.
She blinks, the familiarity of the figure striking her immediately. Moments later, recognition.
<b>“Brinly?”</b> she asks, the confusion quickly shifting into excitement. She should have known better, of course. But youth and naivete blind her. <b>“Were you….”</b>
Her voice trails off as her gaze catches on the glowing red ring shrinking towards them. That ominous light stretches, reaching up until the pair are entirely encased in an eerie red dome. A tendril of dread begins to swell inside the hollow of her stomach. Frowning, she turns her troubled gaze back to her friend. She is washed in a haze of crimson. A light that seems to accentuate the beautiful lines of her face as they twist in a vicious expression, a shriek tearing from her lips as she charges Brazen.
<b>“Wait, Brinly,”</b> she begins with an almost desperate mix confusion and foreboding as she contorts herself to avoid fiery skin. <b>“WAIT!”</b>
Brinly doesn’t listen of course. But then, some part of Brazen had feared she wouldn’t. After several more swift spins to avoid Brinly and desperate pleas that fall on deaf ears, Brazen has had enough. With bared teeth and pinned ears, she meets her head on this time, her unprotected body crashing into Brinly, skin sizzling as she drives her backwards. Gritting through her teeth while trying to ignore the pain, she gasps <b>“<i>This… isn’t… you.</i>”</b>
Then, as she falls back in the face of that gruesome heat, it clicks.
It. Isn’t. Brinly.
Abruptly, her expression shutters. Blue eyes lighting with the sudden anger kindling inside her, she narrows her gaze on the Brinly imposter. When she speaks again, her voice is low and controlled despite her rising emotion. <b>“Who are you?”</b>
Though she had not truly expected an answer, the lack of one serves to bolster her furious resolve. And as Brinly charges once more, it is not the face of her friend she sees, but that of a deceitful enemy.
Brazen waits, shifting, turning, ducking her shoulder as she side-steps to avoid the charge. It’s easy to ignore the pain of her burned skin. She has been ignoring pain for years. And as she leans into the momentum, turning until her hindquarters are aligned almost perpendicularly with Brinly, she lets loose a furious barrage of battering kicks. She doesn’t stop until her hocks and fetlocks burn, the white hair singed away, leaving her skin raw and exposed.
This seems to do little to slow the imposter however. Despite favoring her battered quarter, she turns to face Brazen once more, the empty, bloodthirsty expression still on her face. With a sinking sensation deep in her gut, Brazen suddenly fears that this would not end until one of them lay dead on the ground.
For all that her mind screams at her that this is not Brinly, her heart rebels. Even though she knows that this cannot be her friend, it is so clearly her face. The line she trembles upon now is much too narrow, and Brazen suspects there would be no returning once she crossed it.
In the end, the choice is not made by her. As Brinly once again charges, Brazen’s world narrows. It’s a familiar sensation, that suppression of nearly all thought and emotion. She has striven to find it every time she runs until exhaustion forces her to stop. And as it settles over her now, leaving room only for action and instinct, she knows what must be done.
Her breathing steady, she shifts, almost inviting Brinly to crash into her. In the moments before their skin meets, she drops her shoulder and ducks her head. Leaning into Brinly’s momentum, she watches almost dispassionately as the curling point of one of her new horns swings up with a jerk of her head before coming into contact with Brinly’s exposed neck.
In the next moment, they collide, impossibly fiery skin meeting the rawness of her own. Pain explodes through her even as a sudden weight drags her down. With a sob, she collapses, everything she bundled aside moments earlier crashing through her with brutal mercilessness.
It takes her a few tries to pull her horn from Brinly’s neck. <b>“I’m sorry,”</b> she whispers, the refrain a mantra in her mind and on her lips. She barely notices the blood that gushes across her neck and face, or the tears that track through, mingling almost poetically. Nor does she notice the impossible heat slowly leaching from Brinly’s body as it settles in death against Brazen’s ravaged skin.</p><hr class="brazenname" align="left" style="margin-bottom:-50px;margin-top:50px;margin-left:26px"><p id="brazenname">Brazen</p><hr class="brazenname" align="right" style="margin-top:-50px;margin-bottom:50px;margin-right:26px"></div></div></center>