07-07-2017, 04:29 AM
Lately her trysts in the meadow had seemed to sour. The autumn hours draped in the skin of a silver lioness under fat harvest moons had dulled the sea green of her eyes. Epithet began to wonder if maybe a change of scenery, a change of lifestyle could suit her better. She had been so high she was dizzy then shattered and glued back together on false promises and slivers of glass lies. She wears the scars of childbirth and rearing as a bronzed shield. She no longer would play a victim in their lives. She blazes like a coal fire beneath the bedrock, everlasting and toxic.
The porcelain mare plucks her way into Tephra, weaving and turning as she follows old deer paths long stripped of their scent. Perhaps in this new life, this one she carves out rather than being forced, could be much more suiting. Each footfall brings a bulk to her stance. Taller, more muscular, more masculine. She rips stretches and fills outward easily to a stallion, thick and knotted, reaching a comfortable 17 and a half hands at her withers. She coats herself in the deepest blue-black of the ocean's eyes, cobalt and glistening as small flecks of white steak across her skin like that of ash upon Pompeii. Fine feathers cover her hooves as she moves methodically over the hardened soil and deeper into the humid embrace of Tephra. An expansion of feathers form handsomely at her spine, a pair of black rams horns curling at her brow and thickly spiraling behind her ears.
Epithet finds a place to stop, heavy chest filling, ribs expanding as she tastes the sulfur and acrid undertones. The blue-black of her bulk feels heavy at first but perhaps this body, this identity would stick together the torn seams, to free herself from the sadness that encased her former self. At least it was worth a shot.
A short, deep call gives away her place as she should expect to be found any way. One hoof cocks slightly as she rests, her new body tingling but the heaviness of her head with it's weight proved to be a new adjustment to her stance. Perhaps this land of heat could be what she craves.
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[appearance]
stallion-17.2-deep blue-black with small white spots-feathered wings of same color-black ram horns
The porcelain mare plucks her way into Tephra, weaving and turning as she follows old deer paths long stripped of their scent. Perhaps in this new life, this one she carves out rather than being forced, could be much more suiting. Each footfall brings a bulk to her stance. Taller, more muscular, more masculine. She rips stretches and fills outward easily to a stallion, thick and knotted, reaching a comfortable 17 and a half hands at her withers. She coats herself in the deepest blue-black of the ocean's eyes, cobalt and glistening as small flecks of white steak across her skin like that of ash upon Pompeii. Fine feathers cover her hooves as she moves methodically over the hardened soil and deeper into the humid embrace of Tephra. An expansion of feathers form handsomely at her spine, a pair of black rams horns curling at her brow and thickly spiraling behind her ears.
Epithet finds a place to stop, heavy chest filling, ribs expanding as she tastes the sulfur and acrid undertones. The blue-black of her bulk feels heavy at first but perhaps this body, this identity would stick together the torn seams, to free herself from the sadness that encased her former self. At least it was worth a shot.
A short, deep call gives away her place as she should expect to be found any way. One hoof cocks slightly as she rests, her new body tingling but the heaviness of her head with it's weight proved to be a new adjustment to her stance. Perhaps this land of heat could be what she craves.
-----
[appearance]
stallion-17.2-deep blue-black with small white spots-feathered wings of same color-black ram horns
Epithet
Okay so I'm trying something new with her. Let's see how this goes.