She does not expect anything, not these days.
Nothing but the heaviness in her breast when she looks at the sky. The darkness that slowly overwhelms her each month, shadows taking over her coat until she wakes with sorrow on the back of her tongue. It is that which wakes her today. The moon has disappeared from the sky and she can do nothing but feel it’s absence like a hole in her heart. A wound that will not heal. An aching loss she cannot breathe around.
It drives her from slumber, walking through the forest as dark as onyx. Not a lick of silver left on her slender body. She is a priestess with a stolen god. The devout with nothing left to worship. She has been cleaved in two and she wanders as a zombie, her eyes wide and as dark as the rest of her.
It is only when she stumbles upon him, nearly as gold as her brother but more muted, more natural in tone, that she takes pause. Her head angles toward him and there is enough of a resemblance that she cannot stop herself. She stumbles forward, branches snapping beneath her hooves with the violence of a cracked bone, and comes upon him. Her face is open and wide, her eyes searching for what she cannot define.
“Hello,” she breathes before she can stop herself, and when no other words come, she does not run.
