under a swollen silver moon; topsail

[etro]

etro --

in the hushing dusk, under a swollen silver moon,
I came walking with the wind to watch the cactus bloom

Exhaustion floods her, and she cannot help but think of Kingslay. Cannot help but think of Sleaze. Cannot but help think of her father. They surround her and choke her, and she feels as if she cannot breathe. Her muddy brown eyes close, tighten, and she swallows a few times, trying to steady the earth beneath her. It was all happening too fast. She was changing, losing the ones she loved, disappointing the rest. She was meant to change destinies, destroy dynasties, shape the stars, and she is doing nothing. She is nothing.

It is not until she hears the sound somewhere in the depth of her mind that she moves. The sound is faint, fuzzy, and she frowns, opening her eyes to see the small filly by her side. “Oh!” she cries, surprised, and her voice is the same silver bells that it has always been. Even if she is not. “I didn’t see you there.”

Her face falls again, and one corner of her lip pulls down into the corner. “Was that you?” She can almost feel it, the faint ringing of something in the corner of her mind—something protected by the smothering blanket of her ability. “Did you say hello?” she questions, dropping her rather plain head down to the filly’s level, nondescript eyes sparking with the beginning of interest. She had seen a lot of magic in her life (mostly when she was young and, now, from afar), but she had not yet encountered telepathy outside of her mother. It was intriguing, and she hated herself for making it fuzzy—for making it unclear.

“My name is Etro,” she finally greets, smile turning sad when she thinks of all she has, was, ruining.

-- vanquish and yael's forgotten trait-negating princess --