your mouth is poison; any

[adaline]

— A D A L I N E — your mouth is poison; your mouth is wine (you think your dreams are the same as mine) She is impossible. She is a cosmic joke thrust upon the land--a reminder of her parents' foolish, lustful hearts. With every step, she can feel the vibration shooting up her legs; the shock of it spilling into her core and then rippling to the edges. To the naked eye, she would be beautiful, but in a way that was wholly alien. Her bones spun from glass, her skin papery thin and translucent, her eyes pink and raw. Wings sprung from her back, but they too were not made for purpose, for what was meant to be leather and muscle was shredded and too fragile to fly.  She was not made to live. Born as a twin from a dying (dead?) mother, she lacked the nutrients to be strong, not that her body would have allowed it. Instead, she teetered as she walked, with her fine, sculpted head dragging along the ground so that her nose gathered dust. She stopped and wheezed for a moment before she continued along the way, small ears flickering atop her head. She is not sure where her brother has gone, has never known where her parents walked into the ocean salt on the beach. She just knows that she needs to find food, warmth, a home. So she arrives here. Standing along the border of the Field, the mare lifts her fragile head and looks around, shivering against an imagined cold. She has no idea on how to proceed from here; she has no bearing for what is to come next. So instead of venturing further, she just stands precariously near where the grass has begun to sway in the breeze and closes her pink eyes. Humming to herself, she imagines that she is back once more in the womb with her back pressed against Contagion. She closes her eyes and imagines that all is well once more.