la jeune fille marquée; Magnus

[magnus]

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

Today, Magnus’ restlessness drives him from Heaven toward the meadow, the first place he had found after his rebirthing into this world. It is comforting, in its small ways—more comforting than it had been in his first life—and he finds that he spends more time here than he had previously. Here, he can slip into an ocean of anonymity, seeking casual companionship—often female. Born and raised in the Amazons by their once ferocious Queen, he had learned at a young age to love the ways of women. He loved everything about them, their smell, their softness, their strength; they molded him into the very best version of himself.

So it is no surprise that the buckskin stallion startles a little when he sees the weeping mare, his face falling into soft lines of concern. Altering his course, he makes his way through the foliage and trash that brushes against the inky of his knees. When he is several feet away, he pauses, washed in autumn light.

“Hello?” his voice is smoke, husky, the sound of rivers falling over stones, but it is also tentative, the greeting very much a question that she could decline. He would never force his company on another. Not moving a muscle, he tilted his head, the scar visible as it ran down his golden cheek. “My name is Magnus,” still as quiet as a soldier, as still as a statue. “I just wanted to make sure that you were alright.” And he would stay, as long as she needed the company, or he would leave, if all she wanted was solitude.

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.