[open] don't take it to heart

[abysm]

He dreams himself into the forest. It is not hard to do. Abysm can bend the properties of dreams to his iron will and bend they do, groaning and screaming as bent iron does. But he ignores it, dreams are his for the reaping and he likes to walk through a grand plethora of them. It is fun to spin that fairytale love into sudden mutual spitting hate. Or cast that clouded sunshine into buckets of endless rain. 

The stallion prefers not to dabble too much into other’s dreams. Only his own are part of a large personal hell, as abyssal as they come - like him. In them, he spends time with a navy and moonstone mare that has eyes of love for him and only him. Such grand torture! Waking up. Knowing she is real but gone. So he must content himself with nighttime affairs that happen in dreams as much as in life.

(he’s managed to knock up two this last season through dreams alone, how powerful - how cruel! none of them are her.)

Then she comes along. Glowing and butterfly-laden. He can’t believe his eyes at first - not until she is far enough from him. But there she is, full of youth and vigor. No - that’s not quite right. She’s full of the very fire that makes up her fur, orangey and red. He looks on with pure appreciation for the sheer fact that she knows who she is - fire and alluring, from the graceful sashay of her hips to the gleam in her thundercloud eyes.

“Careful Red, you might attract wolves.” he calls out to her from beneath the low-hanging branches that she has yet to pass beneath. There is laughter in his eyes and along the curve of his mouth, sly and mischievous - a rare mood that Abysm is not usually in but it must be because her of her girlish bravado and saunter. His mind though, begs to know if her dreams glow and gleam with fire and sunsets, like her skin.

Or are her dreams like the butterflies that follow her as if she was their lifeline.

@[brunhilde] it’s odd but a reply! ❤️