07-14-2015, 08:41 PM
Maybe Sunday is drawn to pain. Maybe she's drawn to the newness of birth, the excitement in the air, the waves of the earth as it makes room for one more life. She likes to think it's the latter - that she's attracted to birth and life and love and not the complex other emotions that come with life.
Sunday is forever the optimist, drowning amongst realists.
She knows a sister is having a foal - twins. She can feel it in her soul, she can feel it on her fingertips. Empathy (she has named it this, and it's been shown to be true) allows her to peer into others minds without knowing intimate details. Still, she feels like a spy. Like she's seeing things she shouldn't. Secrets her sisters would rather kept hidden. She can see the colors that surround them (Essence? she hasn't named this yet) and watch them shift and maneuver into something resembling their emotions.
She gives the mare her space. After all, child birth is a lonesome task. Sunday wouldn't know, though. She is no mother.
After the deed is done and the foals (two lively, young, healthy colts) rise and feed she breaks from the underbrush. "Congrats," she says, her smile ever warm. Sunday is never one to lie, she is genuine in her emotions. She watches them for a moment, then studies Myrina carefully. They've met once or twice, they're not so intimate to allow her to ask, but that's the nature of an Empath - you're always intimate with others. She sees loneliness, longing, and mistakes it for a stallion who is not allowed to enter the Amazons.
She's not entirely wrong.
Sunday is forever the optimist, drowning amongst realists.
She knows a sister is having a foal - twins. She can feel it in her soul, she can feel it on her fingertips. Empathy (she has named it this, and it's been shown to be true) allows her to peer into others minds without knowing intimate details. Still, she feels like a spy. Like she's seeing things she shouldn't. Secrets her sisters would rather kept hidden. She can see the colors that surround them (Essence? she hasn't named this yet) and watch them shift and maneuver into something resembling their emotions.
She gives the mare her space. After all, child birth is a lonesome task. Sunday wouldn't know, though. She is no mother.
After the deed is done and the foals (two lively, young, healthy colts) rise and feed she breaks from the underbrush. "Congrats," she says, her smile ever warm. Sunday is never one to lie, she is genuine in her emotions. She watches them for a moment, then studies Myrina carefully. They've met once or twice, they're not so intimate to allow her to ask, but that's the nature of an Empath - you're always intimate with others. She sees loneliness, longing, and mistakes it for a stallion who is not allowed to enter the Amazons.
She's not entirely wrong.
SUNDAY
the amazons magickal mare
the amazons magickal mare