02-09-2021, 12:20 PM
it's a mystery to me
we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
Their world brims with magic. It penetrates each of them, leaving them gifted or cursed, and they have learned that its power is volatile. It will give and it will take. The magic of Beqanna seems to be a sort of christening; when they reach a certain age, they begin to understand the power that writhes within each cell of the land. They begin to realize how simple they are and how their bodies are mere vessels filled with whatever Beqanna will pour into them. And they know that things can change and that some things are unexplainable.
Perhaps these are mere musings from Wishbone alone. Her philosophy on Beqanna’s magic has changed with time, but regardless of her thoughts, she is grateful Mazikeen seems to accept her transformation. They can shift from one form to the next (from black to purple, from horse to lioness) just as their world tends to shift beneath their feet. Just as the day bleeds into the night and the darkness overcomes them. And Wishbone feels good, knowing that her friend accepts her strange change even if neither of them entirely understand it yet.
Wishbone’s amber eyes remain tied to Mazikeen’s, and she watches as the blinding anger fades. Ivar’s face had triggered the same reaction in her — a desire to beat something into the ground until it shattered and bled and disappeared — and Wishbone wonders if she would feel satisfied if she had accomplished it.
The dark edges of her mouth move into a half-smile at Mazikeen’s remark. And yet a sharp pain hits her chest, so sudden she almost loses her breath. Wishbone has her nicknames as well, but the one who often created them died in the Loessian fire. The purple mare had hoped she had left her grief at the top of Tephra’s volcano, but Wolfbane continues to haunt her at the worst times. She isn’t sure if she can handle thinking about his death on top of the fight’s exhaustion.
Thankfully, Mazikeen’s next question pulls Wishbone from the darkness of her sorrow. She forces her mind to consider her new form and any damages it might have taken. But this purple figure is flawless, a body reborn from the magic she still cannot understand. Wishbone shakes her head while saying, “Aside from exhaustion, I feel okay.” It is strange to feel everything so painfully and then nothing at all. It leaves her feeling dizzy, uprooted, floating.
She moves closer to the lioness now, pleased to find that this body fits closer in height with her original frame. It is easy to move when she is closer to the ground, and Wishbone feels less like a high, narrow walking tree. Her own eyes search out Mazikeen’s feline body, searching for any injuries. “And you? Are you okay?”
Perhaps these are mere musings from Wishbone alone. Her philosophy on Beqanna’s magic has changed with time, but regardless of her thoughts, she is grateful Mazikeen seems to accept her transformation. They can shift from one form to the next (from black to purple, from horse to lioness) just as their world tends to shift beneath their feet. Just as the day bleeds into the night and the darkness overcomes them. And Wishbone feels good, knowing that her friend accepts her strange change even if neither of them entirely understand it yet.
Wishbone’s amber eyes remain tied to Mazikeen’s, and she watches as the blinding anger fades. Ivar’s face had triggered the same reaction in her — a desire to beat something into the ground until it shattered and bled and disappeared — and Wishbone wonders if she would feel satisfied if she had accomplished it.
The dark edges of her mouth move into a half-smile at Mazikeen’s remark. And yet a sharp pain hits her chest, so sudden she almost loses her breath. Wishbone has her nicknames as well, but the one who often created them died in the Loessian fire. The purple mare had hoped she had left her grief at the top of Tephra’s volcano, but Wolfbane continues to haunt her at the worst times. She isn’t sure if she can handle thinking about his death on top of the fight’s exhaustion.
Thankfully, Mazikeen’s next question pulls Wishbone from the darkness of her sorrow. She forces her mind to consider her new form and any damages it might have taken. But this purple figure is flawless, a body reborn from the magic she still cannot understand. Wishbone shakes her head while saying, “Aside from exhaustion, I feel okay.” It is strange to feel everything so painfully and then nothing at all. It leaves her feeling dizzy, uprooted, floating.
She moves closer to the lioness now, pleased to find that this body fits closer in height with her original frame. It is easy to move when she is closer to the ground, and Wishbone feels less like a high, narrow walking tree. Her own eyes search out Mazikeen’s feline body, searching for any injuries. “And you? Are you okay?”
@[Mazikeen]