10-23-2018, 03:32 PM
I have always had to save myself. I've had help along the way, who hasn't? But in the end, it's always come down to my own will. I am not old by equine standards, let alone by those of the immortals. Yet already life feels overwhelming. Ravaged, raped and murdered. "It's enough to make anyone bitter." I observe to the void, and anyone else who might care to listen.
The tenuous threads that are holding me to life stretch and thin, gossamer ideas that could break at a glance. I see them now, like fine cobwebs in morning dew, glowing like starlight and leaking from my skin. They pull away, downward. To the dull outline of a pale body prostrate in the black. Each gleaming strand links us, tugs lightly at my mind.
No one really talks about how easy it is to part someone from their life. Now I'm being given a prime example. Before me, one more thread fades, winks out of existence. I bob just a little higher. When they're gone the choice will be made for me. That in itself is a choice, though. I wait and watch two more strands die out, feeling like I did when I used to play at challenging Death. Flying as high as I could, then folding my wings and dropping like a stone. Watching the landscape rise up to meet me. Finally snapping my wings open, at the last possible moment, never quite willing to let myself end.
I'm less surprised than maybe I should have been, when a voice not mine echoes in the dark.
Sabra, it's time.
Time for what? Time to go, and leave this mortal coil? Time to sever those last few lines and find out what lies beyond? The voice is vaguely familiar, but I can't be bothered to think of why. This is my death, I'll do it how I want to.
A taste of irritation flavors me, a more vibrant emotion than I've felt since I got here. "What do you want? Can't a mare die in peace? Haven't I been through enough?" My voice echoes back, biting and scared. More emotions, and I note with horror that they seem to be thickening the lines that draw me toward life. Good, be angry, someone had told me once. Anger means you'll fight. Images not mine play across the endless night. Almost images. Impressions and emotions, vibrant and rich. Love of such an intensity that it could create or destroy anything. I don't think I've ever felt a love like that. Or if I did, I ruined it.
We are all broken pieces, trying to find where we all fit. I am so tired of trying to fit. I cut myself on my edges and lose myself in my own reflection. Love is a beautiful, fickle thing. It breaks my heart with the wanting.
Far away, on a high up cliff, tears stream down my body's face, muscles twitching in frozen seizure. I am so cold. The core of me is dropped so low in temperature, preserving me for my body to heal itself. For flesh to knit and bones to mend. Tears crystallize on my cheeks, icy streams that track to the hard stone beneath me. I could be a frost coated monument to broken things everywhere.
With the wanting I break. But what of the having? Am I done with possibility, curiosity and chance? Am I done filling my lungs with cold air amid the stars, and feeling the wind kiss my wings? With the wanting I descend. Until my feet stand next to her, almost solid. If I touch her, this will be gone, and I will have to try again. Fine then. Be that way. I'll return, and I'll avenge myself. Bring ruin to those who would destroy me.
I've always saved myself, haven't I?
@[Kagerus]
The tenuous threads that are holding me to life stretch and thin, gossamer ideas that could break at a glance. I see them now, like fine cobwebs in morning dew, glowing like starlight and leaking from my skin. They pull away, downward. To the dull outline of a pale body prostrate in the black. Each gleaming strand links us, tugs lightly at my mind.
No one really talks about how easy it is to part someone from their life. Now I'm being given a prime example. Before me, one more thread fades, winks out of existence. I bob just a little higher. When they're gone the choice will be made for me. That in itself is a choice, though. I wait and watch two more strands die out, feeling like I did when I used to play at challenging Death. Flying as high as I could, then folding my wings and dropping like a stone. Watching the landscape rise up to meet me. Finally snapping my wings open, at the last possible moment, never quite willing to let myself end.
I'm less surprised than maybe I should have been, when a voice not mine echoes in the dark.
Sabra, it's time.
Time for what? Time to go, and leave this mortal coil? Time to sever those last few lines and find out what lies beyond? The voice is vaguely familiar, but I can't be bothered to think of why. This is my death, I'll do it how I want to.
A taste of irritation flavors me, a more vibrant emotion than I've felt since I got here. "What do you want? Can't a mare die in peace? Haven't I been through enough?" My voice echoes back, biting and scared. More emotions, and I note with horror that they seem to be thickening the lines that draw me toward life. Good, be angry, someone had told me once. Anger means you'll fight. Images not mine play across the endless night. Almost images. Impressions and emotions, vibrant and rich. Love of such an intensity that it could create or destroy anything. I don't think I've ever felt a love like that. Or if I did, I ruined it.
We are all broken pieces, trying to find where we all fit. I am so tired of trying to fit. I cut myself on my edges and lose myself in my own reflection. Love is a beautiful, fickle thing. It breaks my heart with the wanting.
Far away, on a high up cliff, tears stream down my body's face, muscles twitching in frozen seizure. I am so cold. The core of me is dropped so low in temperature, preserving me for my body to heal itself. For flesh to knit and bones to mend. Tears crystallize on my cheeks, icy streams that track to the hard stone beneath me. I could be a frost coated monument to broken things everywhere.
With the wanting I break. But what of the having? Am I done with possibility, curiosity and chance? Am I done filling my lungs with cold air amid the stars, and feeling the wind kiss my wings? With the wanting I descend. Until my feet stand next to her, almost solid. If I touch her, this will be gone, and I will have to try again. Fine then. Be that way. I'll return, and I'll avenge myself. Bring ruin to those who would destroy me.
I've always saved myself, haven't I?
@[Kagerus]