that love is just a spark that starts in your heart,
and ends in your head
It is in the night that she feels safest, clinging to the shadows and the pure white light of the moon and stars, rather than risk going out in the open. It feels weird to not know anything, to be driven purely by her instinct to feed, to nurture herself and her body, and to stay away from anything and anyone that could be a threat.
It feels weird not to know her own name.
She sees things, now or then - probably flashbacks, though she can’t entirely be sure. Just like the beach she left behind felt like one big deja vu, she can’t decipher anything regarding the things she dreams about. She wanders around like a ghost - yesterday evening she peered into the river and decided that she looks like one, too. Unreal, ethereal - while she figured she would be a pretty ghost, and while she knows that her fire-coloured eyes have the sparkle of one who is very much alive, the white mare doesn’t know anything else about herself than what she looks like - white and unreal. She lives only in the present, and an ethereal one at that. For all she knows she could be a ghost, and that’s why she has decided against running towards the first horse she could find.
She had decided against asking around for her name and purpose, fearing the answer might be that she is indeed a ghost - fearing none might know her, or worse, that her appearance would freak them out or - or that no-one could see her at all.
So now she wanders along the riverbank at night, the only source of freshwater she has found so far, hoping for her memory to fill in the gaps. She met someone here on a night like this, she thinks, though the memory seems as foggy as all the other flashbacks she’s had so far.
Perhaps in time, she will know why she had come here to the beach, to this land she doesn’t know - and she may remember her name, as well.
and gets caught in your throat
@[Svedka]