01-13-2016, 12:04 AM
she paints her eyes as black as night now
Bells ring, cool metal against cool metal, a gentle sound at first. A small smile gathers at her lips; there are people here. There have been no people, not since Rhy and Magnus. She nearly rethinks her decision to seek out the latter once more, for their first impression, though lovely, seemed impossible to live up to. Resolve hardening, the Pegasus continues towards the faint noises.
Her lithe hooves meet the border of the Gates, and she blinks; the world flickers. Cinzia blinks again. No one is here. The grass stoops as though tired against her hocks; the bells chime. The air tastes stagnant, lands like weights in her lungs with each inhale.
’Come… You must come now.’
Brain emptying, the woman obeys. Nothing remains inside of her as the bells intensify. If this is death, then so be it; it seems yet no worse than life. Lips parting, she breathes from her mouth. Wings relax to the point of dragging next to her, creating divots in the remarkably unremarkable land. A trail, a trace, a map back home, should death turn sour.
Grey-blue eyes happen upon the lamb just as the bells cause her to wince. A blink later, and the creature of sevens disappears. Death is not so bad if it is made up of only strange creatures. Cinzia looks away.
Breath catching in her crushable throat as the boom of the voice washes over her, Cinzia thinks momentarily of Magnus, of Rhy, of the living. Her eyes meet with the other figures around her, the ones who must also be dead. The woman knows no one. Choking softly on the memories left behind, the mare brings a single hoof forward.
“I accept.”
Her lithe hooves meet the border of the Gates, and she blinks; the world flickers. Cinzia blinks again. No one is here. The grass stoops as though tired against her hocks; the bells chime. The air tastes stagnant, lands like weights in her lungs with each inhale.
’Come… You must come now.’
Brain emptying, the woman obeys. Nothing remains inside of her as the bells intensify. If this is death, then so be it; it seems yet no worse than life. Lips parting, she breathes from her mouth. Wings relax to the point of dragging next to her, creating divots in the remarkably unremarkable land. A trail, a trace, a map back home, should death turn sour.
Grey-blue eyes happen upon the lamb just as the bells cause her to wince. A blink later, and the creature of sevens disappears. Death is not so bad if it is made up of only strange creatures. Cinzia looks away.
Breath catching in her crushable throat as the boom of the voice washes over her, Cinzia thinks momentarily of Magnus, of Rhy, of the living. Her eyes meet with the other figures around her, the ones who must also be dead. The woman knows no one. Choking softly on the memories left behind, the mare brings a single hoof forward.
“I accept.”
cinzia
pulls those shades down tight now