show them the joy and the pain and the ending
Look. At. Me. The words clang inside her skull, echoing with the viciousness of his emotions. Still, she refuses to crack her eyes open. She cannot fear what she cannot see (even if she has seen so much worse. Seen beasts more gruesome, more fearsome. This though, is somehow different. He pushes the fear on her like a recalcitrant child, forcing upon her what she most adamantly does not want).
She ignores his words, the deceptively soft kisses upon her cheek. And as she does, a plan slowly - achingly so - begins to form. Even hindered by her fear addled brain, a plan coalesces. She hadn't been chosen queen for no reason, and fear only serves to make bravery stronger.
So she opens her eyes. His visage is beastly, terrifying and disgusting all at once. And when her brother's decaying face flickers briefly over his, she withdraws into herself, preserving herself in the only way she can. Her gaze, though unshuttered, grows distant and unseeing, her mind turning inward.
Perhaps she would find Wyrm. She could take her revenge on this beast herself certainly (death is the only thing she truly has to fear, and this stallion cannot inflict her with it). Once the fairies have seen fit to regift her with her powers, Bruise is the one who should fear. But Wyrm would enjoy it. And she would enjoy seeing this horrible stallion tremble beneath the beast Wyrm could become.
These thoughts of revenge serve to distract her, enough to regain a small portion of her composure. So, she laughs. She laughs in the face of fear. Despite the trembling of her heart and the stiffness of her spine, she throws that in his face. ”Find someone… else to be your… whore,” she grits out, icy blue eyes locking on his. She would never scream for him.
Then, she lunges. It is feeble, but it is the best she can manage at the moment. Besides, it is only meant to serve as a distraction. Something to pull him away from his games enough to allow her to flee. With teeth and hoof, she comes at him, seeking out any piece of skin she can find.
Then she turns and runs, steps stumbling but determined. Before, she never would have considered running. But she knows how to pick her battles, and this is not one she could win.
But she had waited too long. Her limbs are weary, her muscles fatigued from her invisible fight. Still, perhaps he had grown tired of his games. Perhaps he wouldn't pursue.
She doesn't believe it even for a minute.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts