they promised that dreams come true
She has taken to simply wandering. It had been her intention to return to the Cove, but then Ghaul took over and she’d fled instead. How pathetic, really, that she couldn’t even go see what the stallion was like, what he might do to her home. After that, she’d stopped paying attention to politics, though still, the Cove calls for her. Those black sand beaches would always be her beginning and her end in so many different ways.
Still, Ori has never been good at engaging in her life. Maybe because she has never quite been good at telling the difference between reality and illusion, a thing that has always blurred together for her. Her mothers followed her as a child, and though she has finally rid herself of those ghosts, she has never totally rid herself of the stray illusions. She’s gotten so good at them that she cannot always tell the difference, and sometimes they spring from her unbidden.
This morning though, is full of ghosts.
Well, it is full of only one ghost, but it is enough. The form at the riverbank is a familiar one, one that haunted far too much of Ori’s childhood. She’d pretended her mothers had been there for her, brought them back to life with illusions that were as good as a child’s memory could make them. This version of Kagerus is not quite as Ori had remembered, though, because this one is real.
Ori halts dead in her tracks, not sure her mother has seen her yet. She is far enough away still that perhaps she will go unnoticed, and quickly, Ori paints another horse overtop herself. She becomes something plain and unremarkable; no horns, no wings, no tell-tale leopard spots. She keeps the basics the same, the buckskin and white skin, the blue eyes. The less she has to change, the more believable the illusion will be.
It is like this she approaches the river, though she is not sure why she doesn’t turn tail and run. Curiosity, perhaps. A need for some sort of closure, maybe. She offers a friendly nicker as she approaches, dropping her head for a drink as well before looking back up to her mother. ”Good morning,” she says, having never been good at small talk.
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too
@[Kagerus]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission