[mature] then sang to the sea for feelings deep blue // bru pony

[Rhaegor]

The weight of the water kept him grounded. On his knees, in between his feathers, sinking into his mouth; he beseeched the river with his presence. Like his mother before him, Rhaegor felt the most connected to reality in this place, as though it represented the halfway house for unhinged souls. The dark cover of the close trees and the sting of the cool water reminded him of his finite nature, of the ways that he could still choose forward. How often he chose that, however, remained slim to none.

Grief kept him stagnant; a permanent fixture in the ever-flowing waters.

Chryseis. The name of the woman he claimed to love, ravaged and dead now according to what little he could find out in the weeks after her disappearance. The thought of her name felt like betrayal, for no matter how far he cast his mind, he could not find hers; what once felt eternal had been cut short. On his own behalf? His head swung, sharp and fast as though to dodge a blow. Grief alone plagued him enough; he refused (as best he could) to entertain the other thoughts, the ones of muddled hearts and unfaithful feelings where an abyss of what ifs grew like unkempt roses. More thorn than petal.

Dawn. Some days, the thoughts crept in no matter how deep he sunk into the river's cool, silencing embrace. Along with the song of her name came the image of her body, simultaneously the young girl who became his best friend and the mothering woman who caused his heart to swell those many years later. A part of him recognized her apparation as a figment of his dreams (the same part that allowed it to continue, that felt a strange eroticism at seeing her here that left him in more pain than he'd been in before). As a myriad of Dawn's words provided the sound track for his daze, an image of Chryseis appeared, too. The blue-and-gold mare came alongside Dawn and the two began to gallivant and hum. They danced in his minds eye like lovers themselves, a gradual waltz that ended with them reaching, touching, begging --

A bright blue light pierced the night's darkness as Rhae emitted a beam from his mouth down on to his chest. His body splashed into the river, the scent of charred flesh sifting through the air until it dissipated completely. Fuck, he thought, not caring to limit the thought to his own mind. With a groan, he rose, the autumn river dripping from his skin in tinkles and glimmers, an innocent sound to the guilt of his conscience. His throat clenched, ashamed of the reactivity he exhibited on behalf of a dream (on behalf of the feelings he refused to engage with). Yet the shame settled like a blanket on his mind; a comfortable simmer, white noise to drown out the cacophony of his thoughts.

Clear-minded, then. For the first time in a long time. Rhaegor smiled; engaged his haunches and leapt up the river bank in a handful of scrambling steps, the places where his hooves met the earth glowing that same bright blue for a few moments before disappearing. With a shuddered breath and steam rising from his trembling body, the once-prince lowered his head to the ground and began to feed, able to satisfy his appetite by way of the silence of his mind. On his chest, the place he'd marked himself bled but a drop, cauterized as it was by the heat of his beam.

.

@[Bruja]