Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there...
dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before...
Loving with a love that was more than love
- Edgar Allen Poe
As usual the fall season can be seen as female tempers rise, and the heat of aggression can be almost palpable between the two before her. It’s quite adorable when the child realizes what is going on around her. Once again, her perception of the game seems to show its lack of development. Ah to be young and innocent, such happy bliss. Hestia’s flames flicker around her hooves, at the flippant way the girl mentions Nerine and tosses her head indicating Hestia in her tirade. It also crosses Hestia’s mind as to how the child would know her? it’s not like she has been outside her kingdom for news to spread of what the old hag looks like. And even if it had, she’s as boring in color as the next black mare… Her lips thin considering this for a moment. How had the child known? A little ruffled from being exposed her features take on a harder, colder edge. Though her sharp words are kept to herself as the child smooths over Hestia’s pride by announcing that a queen recruiting shouldn’t be thought any less of. Hestia finds it rather adorable, and almost wants to nudge the girl to let her know that everything is okay.
They banter, and Hestia listens silently. To her a kingdom isn’t a team, it’s a child that will always be latched to its mother’s breast. You choose to love it, care for and nurture it, because it will never be capable of doing anything without you. However, that doesn’t mean that it will love you. No, it may need you, but the moment it is dissatisfied it may turn to some other breast for nourishment, killing you in the process. It becomes a leach draining your spark, and desire until there is nothing left, but it continues to take. Never will the taking end, it will take and take and take some more until you crumble into dust. Should you try to remove the little munster it will kill you before it lets you go, once you become its source of nourishment there is no escape. Truly you do not become queen for what is given, but for what you can give. To survive you must love that child more than you love your own life. Your own passions, the sacrifice must BE that spark the kingdom takes from you.
The woman is sharp in her words and demands an answer; she does not wait for Hestia to say anything, wisely on her part, as she probably already knows Hestia can’t be manipulated into answering. Hestia says nothing once more; the black mare is almost amused by what the woman says she pictures. A ghost of a smile warms her eyes as she is entertained by the woman’s description. Understanding what it is she means but disagreeing with the execution she things best to get the desired results. This continues until she mentions Beqanna. Hestia is patient, but each sentence, each question she throws after this, spirals into the burning flame in her chest. The creature had told her it would take a year for her to gain control of the phoenix inside her. She knows she doesn’t have long before it will consume them all in her wrath. She exercises the little control she has, inhaling exhaling, listening to the passionate and haughty words lashing out from the black and green mare.
Hestia’s green eyes turn hard, her voice is flat, and head is lowered the few inches necessary to look the black and green woman level in the eyes. She cares not for much, they may be flippant in her presence about most anything, but this. This topic is one that should never be brought up in her presence. And this she brazenly let’s be known through her gaze. There are no more words spouting from the others mouth any longer, and she knows there is no way the woman could have known what it was that she was saying. But she had chosen to continue in her flippancy, as if she knows what it means to rule a kingdom in this land.
She has no control over the flame that burns inside her any longer, it grows hot with the emotion that spills from her soul. Mere seconds and she is blazing into an inferno of flame so hot that they must step away from her for their own health. Staying within her vicinity is likely to do more harm than any of them could want. Wings fiery in their massive length spread out from her shoulders. Venom seeps into her words leaking the poison of her soul. You may have heard stories, may know others who were there, but Beqanna does not, and will not ever speak again, ohhh Rant what is it you have done? The passion is exposed, it burns on her body even if her voice is laced with perfect control, quiet in its cadence. The art of diplomacy she has been schooled in for over a century. She can control her physical body with little effort, but she has no control over the newly obtained abilities. Beqanna speaks no more, this land is not mother Beqanna. Beqanna, to Hestia, is as good as dead. The day she abandoned her children, ripped her connection from Hestia, folded in on herself swallowing her loved ones. That was the day that Hestia found what it truly meant to be alone. Before, the land had moved with her in the smallest of ways, as a child of the jungle blessed with intimate connection to Beqanna Hestia had experienced true knowledge of the life force that flowed through the land, and the spark that beat in Beqanna’s chest. Trees would incline towards her, blades of grass would whisp to the sides, animals would chitter at her presence. A child of a queen, a sister to a queen, a lover to a king, a queen herself. She knows, her knowledge would have these children trembling, buckling under the weight of pain and heart break that she had seen, experienced. This female would not survive the pressures she judges her and monarchs like herself for bearing as gracefully as possible.
Her face as stone, she does not realize the flames that blaze around her. She strides closer to the mare her posture low and threatening, daring her to defy and disrespect her and those that have filled the shoes before her. Flippant mattered little, but flippant on this topic… the child knows nothing, and Hestia lets her know this, with the barking of unused laughter. It is not as terrible or cringe worthy as it was when she had first used it back in the spring, but it is still not a pleasant sound. She may not have used it since, but the memory is still fresh in her mind. When the woman is not backing from her, when the smell of signed fur can be smelled she breaths out, the heat of her nostrils cool against the fiery exoskeleton that surrounds her. It is not the burning, blood or wars that make a kingdom, it’s the survivors that do. She would know. When the Chamber burned the Gates to the ground, they tried to rebuild, and Beqanna blessed them with a seed to protect them. When the Valley ripped the Fall’s to their roots, the kingdom was crippled never fully healed, but Beqanna restored their healing waters. Then when the Amazon’s burned, we returned but we didn’t rebuild. We had our vengeance, and Beqanna wept. Her blessed children cared not for the home that had been decimated but for the destruction of those that would dare to do such a thing. Beqanna abandoned us then. Hestia stops, she silences herself, the flames dissipating, leaving the signed hairs alone. She doesn’t back away however, she continues to stand there a breath away from the woman that had been entertaining enough for Hestia to think of recruiting her. she waits a moment before finishing her point, I know not from where you come, I do not care. I know this land in ways you never will. So do not stand here and talk to me of the old kingdoms. Of war and chaos, of what they looked like. What they look like.
Would she really die for all that? Does she know what she truly offers when she says those words? Hestia does, in fact she had already done so. The Valley so desperate so weak needed her ruler, and Hestia left her 6-month-old child to find him. She died on that trip, her lover and king had died, her children grew without parents. If anyone knows what blood and war brings its Hestia. And its because she knows Rant is ignorant. It is because of thes she has been kind in her chastisement. As kind as she can be at least. Hestia is silent and doesn’t back off even when the mare begins speaking again.
They banter, and Hestia listens silently. To her a kingdom isn’t a team, it’s a child that will always be latched to its mother’s breast. You choose to love it, care for and nurture it, because it will never be capable of doing anything without you. However, that doesn’t mean that it will love you. No, it may need you, but the moment it is dissatisfied it may turn to some other breast for nourishment, killing you in the process. It becomes a leach draining your spark, and desire until there is nothing left, but it continues to take. Never will the taking end, it will take and take and take some more until you crumble into dust. Should you try to remove the little munster it will kill you before it lets you go, once you become its source of nourishment there is no escape. Truly you do not become queen for what is given, but for what you can give. To survive you must love that child more than you love your own life. Your own passions, the sacrifice must BE that spark the kingdom takes from you.
The woman is sharp in her words and demands an answer; she does not wait for Hestia to say anything, wisely on her part, as she probably already knows Hestia can’t be manipulated into answering. Hestia says nothing once more; the black mare is almost amused by what the woman says she pictures. A ghost of a smile warms her eyes as she is entertained by the woman’s description. Understanding what it is she means but disagreeing with the execution she things best to get the desired results. This continues until she mentions Beqanna. Hestia is patient, but each sentence, each question she throws after this, spirals into the burning flame in her chest. The creature had told her it would take a year for her to gain control of the phoenix inside her. She knows she doesn’t have long before it will consume them all in her wrath. She exercises the little control she has, inhaling exhaling, listening to the passionate and haughty words lashing out from the black and green mare.
Hestia’s green eyes turn hard, her voice is flat, and head is lowered the few inches necessary to look the black and green woman level in the eyes. She cares not for much, they may be flippant in her presence about most anything, but this. This topic is one that should never be brought up in her presence. And this she brazenly let’s be known through her gaze. There are no more words spouting from the others mouth any longer, and she knows there is no way the woman could have known what it was that she was saying. But she had chosen to continue in her flippancy, as if she knows what it means to rule a kingdom in this land.
She has no control over the flame that burns inside her any longer, it grows hot with the emotion that spills from her soul. Mere seconds and she is blazing into an inferno of flame so hot that they must step away from her for their own health. Staying within her vicinity is likely to do more harm than any of them could want. Wings fiery in their massive length spread out from her shoulders. Venom seeps into her words leaking the poison of her soul. You may have heard stories, may know others who were there, but Beqanna does not, and will not ever speak again, ohhh Rant what is it you have done? The passion is exposed, it burns on her body even if her voice is laced with perfect control, quiet in its cadence. The art of diplomacy she has been schooled in for over a century. She can control her physical body with little effort, but she has no control over the newly obtained abilities. Beqanna speaks no more, this land is not mother Beqanna. Beqanna, to Hestia, is as good as dead. The day she abandoned her children, ripped her connection from Hestia, folded in on herself swallowing her loved ones. That was the day that Hestia found what it truly meant to be alone. Before, the land had moved with her in the smallest of ways, as a child of the jungle blessed with intimate connection to Beqanna Hestia had experienced true knowledge of the life force that flowed through the land, and the spark that beat in Beqanna’s chest. Trees would incline towards her, blades of grass would whisp to the sides, animals would chitter at her presence. A child of a queen, a sister to a queen, a lover to a king, a queen herself. She knows, her knowledge would have these children trembling, buckling under the weight of pain and heart break that she had seen, experienced. This female would not survive the pressures she judges her and monarchs like herself for bearing as gracefully as possible.
Her face as stone, she does not realize the flames that blaze around her. She strides closer to the mare her posture low and threatening, daring her to defy and disrespect her and those that have filled the shoes before her. Flippant mattered little, but flippant on this topic… the child knows nothing, and Hestia lets her know this, with the barking of unused laughter. It is not as terrible or cringe worthy as it was when she had first used it back in the spring, but it is still not a pleasant sound. She may not have used it since, but the memory is still fresh in her mind. When the woman is not backing from her, when the smell of signed fur can be smelled she breaths out, the heat of her nostrils cool against the fiery exoskeleton that surrounds her. It is not the burning, blood or wars that make a kingdom, it’s the survivors that do. She would know. When the Chamber burned the Gates to the ground, they tried to rebuild, and Beqanna blessed them with a seed to protect them. When the Valley ripped the Fall’s to their roots, the kingdom was crippled never fully healed, but Beqanna restored their healing waters. Then when the Amazon’s burned, we returned but we didn’t rebuild. We had our vengeance, and Beqanna wept. Her blessed children cared not for the home that had been decimated but for the destruction of those that would dare to do such a thing. Beqanna abandoned us then. Hestia stops, she silences herself, the flames dissipating, leaving the signed hairs alone. She doesn’t back away however, she continues to stand there a breath away from the woman that had been entertaining enough for Hestia to think of recruiting her. she waits a moment before finishing her point, I know not from where you come, I do not care. I know this land in ways you never will. So do not stand here and talk to me of the old kingdoms. Of war and chaos, of what they looked like. What they look like.
Would she really die for all that? Does she know what she truly offers when she says those words? Hestia does, in fact she had already done so. The Valley so desperate so weak needed her ruler, and Hestia left her 6-month-old child to find him. She died on that trip, her lover and king had died, her children grew without parents. If anyone knows what blood and war brings its Hestia. And its because she knows Rant is ignorant. It is because of thes she has been kind in her chastisement. As kind as she can be at least. Hestia is silent and doesn’t back off even when the mare begins speaking again.
Hestia
Sid told me to stop revising and stop trying to make her shut up.... so I'm very very sorry. <3
![[Image: 345k45w.jpg]](http://i65.tinypic.com/345k45w.jpg)