06-27-2024, 11:24 PM
we’re going to put a quote here
There's something sacred in the cold wash of a late autumn bath.
Hysperia's skin shivers over and over again as lap after lap of lazy, crystal-clear river water splashes against her barrel. It is nearly night, all the colors of dusk refusing to wash over the darkness of her coat. She is a plain thing, by Beqanna's standards. Some things mark her as beautiful, sure: the dainty, breakable length of her legs, the small splash of white socks around her hooves, the feminine lines of her skull, dotted gemstones trailing intricate patterns across her skin. These lovely things she sees in many reflections - she admires them even. But it is not nearly enough. There are scales and furs of the deepest colors of the rainbows. There are powers of attraction and physicality not within her grasp.
Plain, she hisses to herself - then suddenly dunks her head deep under the water.
This ritual is simple: deprive herself of the simple pleasure of comfort and she will be washed anew. That, and she likes the way her skin tightens with the temperature, as if she is as fresh as a newborn baby.
The filth is washed clean within thirty minutes of anguish. Hysperia dunks her head over and over again, holding her breath until her lungs ache and she sees bright white spots behind her eyelids. It is not until the muscles of her chest spasm that she draws herself from the water, renewed. She is sharp, focused, alive. There is no particular direction for her to follow, but she steps through the creeping darkness as if she is on a mission.
It is that improvised mission that leads her to witness the brilliant blue stallion beneath a lingering strike of lightning. Hysperia audibly gasps, jade eyes widening in shock and prophecy. The Itch she washed from her flesh returns faster than it ever has before as she stares with the reverence of a worshipper at the feet of their God. She does not hesitate once the light fades from the sky.
"Hello?" Hysperia calls, coloring her tentative question with layer after layer of innocence and awe.
"Did . . . did you see that lightning?" she adds, giving a touch of a scared whimper to her voice.
Hysperia's skin shivers over and over again as lap after lap of lazy, crystal-clear river water splashes against her barrel. It is nearly night, all the colors of dusk refusing to wash over the darkness of her coat. She is a plain thing, by Beqanna's standards. Some things mark her as beautiful, sure: the dainty, breakable length of her legs, the small splash of white socks around her hooves, the feminine lines of her skull, dotted gemstones trailing intricate patterns across her skin. These lovely things she sees in many reflections - she admires them even. But it is not nearly enough. There are scales and furs of the deepest colors of the rainbows. There are powers of attraction and physicality not within her grasp.
Plain, she hisses to herself - then suddenly dunks her head deep under the water.
This ritual is simple: deprive herself of the simple pleasure of comfort and she will be washed anew. That, and she likes the way her skin tightens with the temperature, as if she is as fresh as a newborn baby.
The filth is washed clean within thirty minutes of anguish. Hysperia dunks her head over and over again, holding her breath until her lungs ache and she sees bright white spots behind her eyelids. It is not until the muscles of her chest spasm that she draws herself from the water, renewed. She is sharp, focused, alive. There is no particular direction for her to follow, but she steps through the creeping darkness as if she is on a mission.
It is that improvised mission that leads her to witness the brilliant blue stallion beneath a lingering strike of lightning. Hysperia audibly gasps, jade eyes widening in shock and prophecy. The Itch she washed from her flesh returns faster than it ever has before as she stares with the reverence of a worshipper at the feet of their God. She does not hesitate once the light fades from the sky.
"Hello?" Hysperia calls, coloring her tentative question with layer after layer of innocence and awe.
"Did . . . did you see that lightning?" she adds, giving a touch of a scared whimper to her voice.
hysperia
