08-02-2016, 09:21 PM
There are children scampering about and bleating desperately for their mothers to feed them. They're so innocent and so ignorant of what this world has to offer them. In silence Estela regards them with piqued curiosity while trying to remember if she was like that. As far as she can remember her demeanor has been more placid, unusual for most foals. She remembers the stare of her parents as they tried hard to mask their disapproval and disgust. Their beloved children were tainted by a dark history, bathed in the sins of their ancestor. Jinn and Estela didn't know it then. They didn't realize why they made father cringe, but at least she knows it now even if her sweet brother does not.
A love child is to be perfect in every way. They aren't supposed to be monsters.
Jinn looks as though his tomb spat him out decades after his life had slipped between his fingers.
Estela, although physically whole, lacks the tenderness of her family. She is more predatorial, more egotistical as she takes into regard the curved talons on her feet.
Unlike her brethren, these horses scattered in the meadow's waning light, Estela moves with uncharacteristic silence. She doesn't have dense hooves to crack every twig and leaf; her paws meticulously plant themselves as she scrutinizes her own stealth. With her family away, the girl is alone, The world unravels in front of her and invites her into its midst, but she pauses. Where to begin, she doesn't know.
Nightfall descends on her and cradles her in its arms. She would be nearly concealed by its curtain if it wasn't for her porcelain points gleaming like the moon's smile. Frozen, the archangel lies in wait and listens to the chirping of the crickets.
A love child is to be perfect in every way. They aren't supposed to be monsters.
Jinn looks as though his tomb spat him out decades after his life had slipped between his fingers.
Estela, although physically whole, lacks the tenderness of her family. She is more predatorial, more egotistical as she takes into regard the curved talons on her feet.
Unlike her brethren, these horses scattered in the meadow's waning light, Estela moves with uncharacteristic silence. She doesn't have dense hooves to crack every twig and leaf; her paws meticulously plant themselves as she scrutinizes her own stealth. With her family away, the girl is alone, The world unravels in front of her and invites her into its midst, but she pauses. Where to begin, she doesn't know.
Nightfall descends on her and cradles her in its arms. She would be nearly concealed by its curtain if it wasn't for her porcelain points gleaming like the moon's smile. Frozen, the archangel lies in wait and listens to the chirping of the crickets.
Estela
lies are dripping off your face