04-22-2019, 07:16 PM
let the petals fall where they may
If she had known the potential danger she had just arrived upon, she may have avoided interaction with the colt. Her parents had not quite taught her how cruel the world could be. Her mother, young as she was, had given her little to go by. Her father, in his old and supposedly “wizened” age had left him oblivious. Everclear may have experienced plenty of strange cruelties on his own, he did not imprint an instance of it on his youngest daughter.
Instead, he doted upon her. Citadelle felt like a princess, as if she were the one upon all the eyes would fall upon.
And yet… here is this young colt. He is just the same age as she, and he stares at her with a fixation that she expects and so for a moment she prances and flaunts….until she realizes there is a silence around them after she demands her answers. The birds chirp, the quieter daylight bugs chirp and hiss around them and then the colorful colt reaches forward towards her. Did he think he was going to touch her? She takes a small jolt backwards, alarmed, watching as he reaches his nose toward the flowers at her feet.
Those were her flowers!
“Hey!” She snaps again, nearly biting toward his nose except she stops abruptly with her little mouth agape near his nose. Her pale green eyes are trained instead upon the flowers that are now rooting back into the ground in front of her small hooves, trapped in wonder.
“What did you….?” She stops once her eyes have taken in the newer appearance of the colt, the shimmery scales, the rest of his words.
“My name doesn’t matter to you!” She stamps her little feet once, twice, three times. “Why did you take my flowers back?” She snorts. “Those were for my mother,” she lies.
“You’re mean, do you know that?” She scowls at him and turns a little, an instinctive effort to make herself seem a little bigger than him. “My mother and father would never let you do anything to me, Bub.”
Her horn is small, but it still bears the small carved pattern of a whittled spear, and she glares at him with a smirk and a pale green gaze, hooves prancing. “I want my flowers back.”
Instead, he doted upon her. Citadelle felt like a princess, as if she were the one upon all the eyes would fall upon.
And yet… here is this young colt. He is just the same age as she, and he stares at her with a fixation that she expects and so for a moment she prances and flaunts….until she realizes there is a silence around them after she demands her answers. The birds chirp, the quieter daylight bugs chirp and hiss around them and then the colorful colt reaches forward towards her. Did he think he was going to touch her? She takes a small jolt backwards, alarmed, watching as he reaches his nose toward the flowers at her feet.
Those were her flowers!
“Hey!” She snaps again, nearly biting toward his nose except she stops abruptly with her little mouth agape near his nose. Her pale green eyes are trained instead upon the flowers that are now rooting back into the ground in front of her small hooves, trapped in wonder.
“What did you….?” She stops once her eyes have taken in the newer appearance of the colt, the shimmery scales, the rest of his words.
“My name doesn’t matter to you!” She stamps her little feet once, twice, three times. “Why did you take my flowers back?” She snorts. “Those were for my mother,” she lies.
“You’re mean, do you know that?” She scowls at him and turns a little, an instinctive effort to make herself seem a little bigger than him. “My mother and father would never let you do anything to me, Bub.”
Her horn is small, but it still bears the small carved pattern of a whittled spear, and she glares at him with a smirk and a pale green gaze, hooves prancing. “I want my flowers back.”
Citadelle
@[Beelzebub]