09-22-2025, 02:31 PM
Her legs moved without her will.
Ink dipped spindles carrying her forward, one after another, climbing through grass, over stone, into the rising ribs of the mountain. Her mothlike antenna twitched and quivered as though catching signals too faint for the rest of her body to decipher. The neon streaks in her mane tangled in the wind, bright banners of something wild and unwilling, but still she climbed.
Her mind was immersed in a fog.The meadow she had grazed in minutes or hours ago seemed like a dream. Her thoughts unraveled like old string, scattering behind her as she walked. She did not think to stop. She did not think at all, she only moved with one motive- reach the summit.
The air thinned, sharpened, pressed cold against her sides as the mountain swallowed her whole. Her hooves rang against stone like ritual bells, hollow, steady, inevitable. Around her, she could sense the others, their bodies pulled in the same direction, threads knotted into the same cruel design.
And then finality- the summit.
Tipsy stilled as though waking from a dream. She blinked, her lashes brushing against the edges of her vision, and for the first time she realized she was there. Her chest heaved, her breathing still labored, though she could not recall the climb. She tasted blood in her mouth as if she had bitten her own tongue somewhere on the way up, yet she remained unfazed.
Her antenna flicked and she laughed a low, unsettled sound that tumbled out of her velvet lips before she could stop it. “Well,” she murmured, half to herself, half to whatever wicked hand had drawn her here, “isn’t this a fine trick?”
And though her hooves rooted her in place, though the mountain refused to release her body, her eyes glittered with sudden wakefulness chaotic, curious, and alive again.
I’m excited!))
Ink dipped spindles carrying her forward, one after another, climbing through grass, over stone, into the rising ribs of the mountain. Her mothlike antenna twitched and quivered as though catching signals too faint for the rest of her body to decipher. The neon streaks in her mane tangled in the wind, bright banners of something wild and unwilling, but still she climbed.
Her mind was immersed in a fog.The meadow she had grazed in minutes or hours ago seemed like a dream. Her thoughts unraveled like old string, scattering behind her as she walked. She did not think to stop. She did not think at all, she only moved with one motive- reach the summit.
The air thinned, sharpened, pressed cold against her sides as the mountain swallowed her whole. Her hooves rang against stone like ritual bells, hollow, steady, inevitable. Around her, she could sense the others, their bodies pulled in the same direction, threads knotted into the same cruel design.
And then finality- the summit.
Tipsy stilled as though waking from a dream. She blinked, her lashes brushing against the edges of her vision, and for the first time she realized she was there. Her chest heaved, her breathing still labored, though she could not recall the climb. She tasted blood in her mouth as if she had bitten her own tongue somewhere on the way up, yet she remained unfazed.
Her antenna flicked and she laughed a low, unsettled sound that tumbled out of her velvet lips before she could stop it. “Well,” she murmured, half to herself, half to whatever wicked hand had drawn her here, “isn’t this a fine trick?”
And though her hooves rooted her in place, though the mountain refused to release her body, her eyes glittered with sudden wakefulness chaotic, curious, and alive again.
I’m excited!))