we are aching bones and wasted years; exemplary

[magnus]

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

If she is lacking skeletons on her closet, then Magnus has plenty to spare. He is overflowing with them, the devil on his shoulder having long ago set up residence. He was a study of conflicting emotions and overbearing guilt—the guilt of betraying his family, abandoning his kingdom, and always (always) the guilt of failing to protect those who he loved. On most days, the guilt was enough to drown him.

He feels it choking him as he walks through the meadow today and despite his best efforts, it is enough that he cannot ignore it. That is, until the slender black mare walks up to his side and introduces herself. Magnus almost sighs with relief at the diversion. “Hello there,” his gold-flecked eyes turn to meet her own, and his smile is as genuine as it is crooked, the lacerated lips pulling up lopsided in one corner.

“My name is Magnus.”

A name that would have once meant something but now was just dust in his mouth—a name only known to the few ancient souls that continued to haunt Beqanna. At first, it had been odd stepping back into a life that no longer remembered him, but he had found that he truly did not mind it. The anonymity was as pleasant and relaxing as he would have imagined. It was hard to disappoint those who did now know him.

Bringing his attention back to Exemplary, he tilts his head to consider her. She was beautiful, and he was not immune to it, but it was the kindness in her eyes that truly intrigued him—the simplicity of that enough to draw him forth like moth to flame. “So what brings a mare like you to the meadow on a day like this?” It was a question that he had asked before; it was one with answers that never disappointed.

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.