10-20-2019, 10:23 PM
your breath frozen in the air, newborn droplets of iceyou were the one thing i got right
It’s curious to think that the tiny girl was born from an angel and the devil himself – it is an unusual pairing, but perhaps not the strangest to ever occur. What will she be like as a child, as a teen, as an adult? It’s not something she yet knows, nor any of them; will the devil and god rage a war inside of her that can only be quelled by violence, or will she be angelic yet terrible to behold? Is there anyone who can predict that?
She should be terrified at the winged shadow making its way towards her, but she only feels a calm bravery as Castile’s hooves crunch into the snow in front of her. He is in his horse form, but she feels a kinship with him, her inner dragon pulling itself towards the stallion and embracing his touch to her poll as if nothing else matters. He is family, something tells her, and his breath is warm against her face as he encourages her to stand. Shivering, she gathers her tiny hooves under her and struggles to her feet, leaning into the piebald stallion.
“Family,” she echoes quietly, voice sweet as she meets his eyes with a shy smile. He asks her if she has a name and she stops, not sure of how to respond. A name? So far, her entire existence has been here in the snow; she doesn’t even know her mother’s name. “No,” she tells him with a shake of her head, pressing herself into his warmth. “No name,” she repeats, the thought heavy on the tiny girl’s mind. Should she have a name? Should someone have named her? Why was she left all alone in the snow?
She should be terrified at the winged shadow making its way towards her, but she only feels a calm bravery as Castile’s hooves crunch into the snow in front of her. He is in his horse form, but she feels a kinship with him, her inner dragon pulling itself towards the stallion and embracing his touch to her poll as if nothing else matters. He is family, something tells her, and his breath is warm against her face as he encourages her to stand. Shivering, she gathers her tiny hooves under her and struggles to her feet, leaning into the piebald stallion.
“Family,” she echoes quietly, voice sweet as she meets his eyes with a shy smile. He asks her if she has a name and she stops, not sure of how to respond. A name? So far, her entire existence has been here in the snow; she doesn’t even know her mother’s name. “No,” she tells him with a shake of her head, pressing herself into his warmth. “No name,” she repeats, the thought heavy on the tiny girl’s mind. Should she have a name? Should someone have named her? Why was she left all alone in the snow?
clarissa
@[Castile]