what I gotta do to show these girls that I own them
The sound of hooves are loud when all you can hear is the small splatter of snowflakes and your own heartbeat. Perfect lifts her head with a knowing smile to see she had attracted some company.
Lovely.
Immortality had it's perks, a fine line of cockiness and confidence, that Perfect promptly stomped that into the ground. She stands somewhere between youthful girl and marehood, trapped at the age where she is able to reap the benefits of both. Forever pretty but mature of mind (one day). And now in this moment, pale green eyes drink in the other. He seems close to her age but the horns at his head make him seem older, grittier, dirtier. A smile blooms across her lips as she watches him approach with as much disdain for the field as she.
"Bruise of Pangea, you say?" She echoes casually, noting the information, his face, and those horns on his handsome blessed head. She knows exactly why she is here and appreciates that he does not screw around. She likes to keep company with those who know what they want and rather than try to coat her in sticky sweet words. She may have all eternity but she does not want to squander it with meaningless chit chat.
Pretty little ears rotate away when he asks for her name. Perfect passes her gaze to the sky for a moment as she lets the white flakes stick to her mane and eyelashes. "My father named me Perfect." The words tip toe from her tapered lips as she returns her focus to the odd stallion with his charming demeanor though Perfect imagines it was only a matter of time before his pretty porcelain mask slid off.
She knows of Pangea. He father had made the land. He had also made her immortal. Perfect decides to not divulge the information to Bruise so instead she lets her own name sit on her lips, smirking at him and tossing the length of her forelock from her eyes so she may see him better, noting the notches and curves of his healthy form.
perfect