11-02-2019, 04:05 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Old+Standard+TT' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .agetta_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: #faf7fa; width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 2px #5e6167; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .agetta_container p { margin: 0; } .agetta_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .agetta_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 550px; margin-bottom: -100px; border-left: solid 1px #5e6167; border-right: solid 1px #5e6167; } .agetta_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #5e6167; padding: 25px; } .agetta_name { position: absolute; z-index: 10; bottom: 5px; left: 180px; color: #5e6167; font: 30px 'Old Standard TT', serif; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 20px; opacity: 0.7; }</style> <center> <div class="agetta_container"> <div class="agetta_text"> <p class="agetta_message">They aren’t allowed a long reunion, but at least they got <i>something</i> and for that Agetta is grateful. The voice of the ghost-mare comes, so quiet that the white mare almost misses it entirely, so entirely has Plume grasped her focus. Even as she listens though, her gaze doesn’t leave his face.
But at the mention that their loved ones might be able to come with them… her head turns as if to find that mare, to see if she has heard correctly, only to look back to Plume. The words stick in her throat and she cannot speak them out loud, though she feels as though the question must be burning in her eyes and plain as day for all to see. It’s not fair of her to ask it, to ask him to disturb his restful peace, and she’s not sure she has a right to the words. After all these years, Agetta does not think that she <i>needs</i> him - but it is a simple, selfish truth that she <i>wants</i> him.
He smiles at her, seeming to know as always the conflict within her that she does not hide well.
And he also seems to see the reluctance to broach that subject and gives her the time she needs to fret and wonder. The words that come to him are not an answer to that unspoken question, but in response to the task at hand. “Let’s find those gates.” He says, nudging her gently. She is unwilling to move from their embrace and presses close to him for another moment before his wing slides slowly off of her back. Agetta cannot take her gaze off of him, even as he moves to lead the way. Her body follows him without hesitation - she’d follow him anywhere, really - though her mind is still wondering if it’s possible for them to be together.
If she cannot stay here with him, could he truly try to come with her?
The Gates, that is - Heaven’s Gates their old kingdom, begins to fade away as they wander. Moments ago it had stretched forever but now that their purpose seems to have changed, the landscape drops away. It’s not really darkness or light that is left in place of the grasses and hills, more of a swirling nothingness. Almost like mist, but the swirling colours of twilight. It is warm against Agetta’s skin where it touches her, inviting her to stay.
They are mostly quiet as they move. For one, Agetta is far too busy overthinking whether or not she should ask him to come with her back into the world of the living. But also - she is simply too ashamed of the life she has lived since she parted with him last time in the afterlife. She has been so weak that it disgusts her and she cannot bring herself to share any stories with him.
Even stories about their children aren’t easy to come by - how can she mention how proud she is of Depp, how worried she is about where Cyprian might be, without also talking about how much she misses Risa? Their only daughter, dead before she had truly started to live. Guilt eats away at her, dividing her mind and fracturing her heart even further. Maybe she should have sought out Risa after she had heard the siren call of the dead - did they have time to try to find their daughter here so Agetta could bring her back? Give that sweet girl the life she deserved?
Every time her worries threaten to boil over and drown her, a gentle brush of Plume’s wings brings her back to the present.
Just as she’s about to work up the confidence to sort out her thoughts <i>with</i> him, he stops. Her attention turns before them and she sees a large archway out of the swirling mists. The sides look like trees, though the crowns have bent together and there are few stray branches. The two trees are twisted together but if Agetta focuses, she can see that one is living and one is dead.
Just as Agetta is thinking about how the ghost-mare had mentioned a guardian, a figure appears before the doorway, forming out of the swirling mists. The white mare steps a little closer to Plume, pressing against him (though never too hard, even though he’s dead she does not wish to harm his wings) as though she fears they might be separated here and now. Both of their attentions are on the figure before them. It is horse-like in shape and stature, but it is in constant change and fluctuation. One moment Agetta thinks she sees her mother, and then Rooke, then Risa (she gasps and Plume sucks in a breath as they face their daughter for that single heartbeat), and then other faces flicker. Some Agetta recognizes but most she doesn’t - the guardian is borrowing the likeness of the dead. Each familiar face feels like a blow - especially the ones that surprise her. Especially the ones that are foals.
But the eyes of the creature remain the same no matter how the body shifts each second - a deep, fathomless black. There’s no glint of light reflection in them, appearing for all the world as though they are just two deep holes.
“You escaped me once before, little star.” It isn’t so much a voice that comes from the figure, but a deep and alien rumble that echoes through Agetta’s mind. It is a splintered voice, stitched together from millions of other voices and it sends a chill running through her to hear it. “Why should I let you go again?”
This is Death.
And she does not have a good answer.
The truth is, she would not mind staying here - she might even be happier if she did. All her children have grown, hating her or not. Her counterpart is alive, and she does not know whether Atrox has been causing enough trouble to require her as a balance any more.
“She needs to go back.” Plume speaks when her own voice fails her and she feels a wave of love and gratitude wash over her. It feels true when he says it, as though it’s simple and not a decision that could cleave her in two. “It’s not time for her to stay yet.”
A clicking noise comes from Death and its ever-changing head tilts curiously to the side. “Perhaps. There are still things that must happen to her before she is ready.” ‘Uncomfortable’ is not strong enough of a word to explain the depth to which Agetta is unnerved by this discussion. Those eyes are not simply looking at her, but through her - into her mind, into her past… and into her future.
Kastiel’s face appears briefly as it remarks. “But she still escaped.” Although there is no possible way to tell which direction those shadowy eyes can be looking, Agetta nonetheless can sense when Death turns its attention to her. “A price is owed for the favour I granted.”
They are quiet for a moment, watching the flicker of Death’s face as it shifts from one ghost to another. “What do you ask?” Agetta speaks now, doing her best not to make her voice tremble - though she just barely manages it.
“Memories.” Comes the response, so quickly and with such an obvious hunger that the white mare flinches. She can feel Plume tensing beside her, and she asks the question she is sure they are both thinking:
“Of… what?”
Again that considering, clicking noise before it responded. “I’ll make my selection. Nothing you’ll miss, I think. You’ll remember your life, your family and friends. You might not even notice that I’ve taken anything, I’ll just snatch a few from the dark corners of your mind.” When the white mare seems to hesitate, Death continues - that horrible, twisted voice attempting to coax her out of her uncertainty. “You’ve already forgotten so much, little star. What’s a few more memories?”
It is a strange price, and a confusing one. It is just so, so incredibly vague.
But Plume nudges her, and she looks to him instead - finding it easier to think when she’s not staring into the black holes of Death’s eyes. “You should go, Agetta. There’s still more good you can do.” He presses his muzzle against her neck, and though neither of them are truly breathing she swears she can feel a stir against her skin. “You don’t have to save the world, but you can make it a little brighter.”
Is that his scent surrounding her, or just her memories of it? She hopes that this isn’t the price Death will take from her.
“Plume…” This is it. If she was ever going to ask - it would be now.
There aren’t any words that come to her, however, and instead they just embrace. She cannot ask him to sacrifice his peace just to bring some peace to her life. And he won’t ask her to stay. Not when she’s still got the chance at living. Their ‘I love you’s are whispered against each other’s skin and she lingers long enough that she swear she can hear Death sigh. Only then does the gate begin to pull her away from Plume, and she takes the first few, awful steps away from him. They don’t get easier.
As she slips through the gate, flashes of a dapple grey mare with icy eyes appear in her mind. At first, the sight of this mare brings rage and grief but then the image fades away, and each step it gets a little further away as though she is leaving it behind. The mists of the afterlife swirl around her, washing clean her mind, reaching and sweeping out some of the most horrible, awful traumas of her life and the one responsible.
It will seem like a gift. But it isn’t.
When she arrives on the beach again, her mind feels light - and there’s a smile on her face. A sad, sweet one, but a smile all the same. She doesn’t look behind her, doesn’t want to see that Plume isn’t with her any more. She can only hope that she’s helped open the rift enough so that they can speak every now and then.
This time, she’ll have such wonderful stories to tell.
</p> </div> <div class="agetta_name">Agetta</div> <img class="agetta_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/C5NM2zT9/agetta.png"> </div> </center>
But at the mention that their loved ones might be able to come with them… her head turns as if to find that mare, to see if she has heard correctly, only to look back to Plume. The words stick in her throat and she cannot speak them out loud, though she feels as though the question must be burning in her eyes and plain as day for all to see. It’s not fair of her to ask it, to ask him to disturb his restful peace, and she’s not sure she has a right to the words. After all these years, Agetta does not think that she <i>needs</i> him - but it is a simple, selfish truth that she <i>wants</i> him.
He smiles at her, seeming to know as always the conflict within her that she does not hide well.
And he also seems to see the reluctance to broach that subject and gives her the time she needs to fret and wonder. The words that come to him are not an answer to that unspoken question, but in response to the task at hand. “Let’s find those gates.” He says, nudging her gently. She is unwilling to move from their embrace and presses close to him for another moment before his wing slides slowly off of her back. Agetta cannot take her gaze off of him, even as he moves to lead the way. Her body follows him without hesitation - she’d follow him anywhere, really - though her mind is still wondering if it’s possible for them to be together.
If she cannot stay here with him, could he truly try to come with her?
The Gates, that is - Heaven’s Gates their old kingdom, begins to fade away as they wander. Moments ago it had stretched forever but now that their purpose seems to have changed, the landscape drops away. It’s not really darkness or light that is left in place of the grasses and hills, more of a swirling nothingness. Almost like mist, but the swirling colours of twilight. It is warm against Agetta’s skin where it touches her, inviting her to stay.
They are mostly quiet as they move. For one, Agetta is far too busy overthinking whether or not she should ask him to come with her back into the world of the living. But also - she is simply too ashamed of the life she has lived since she parted with him last time in the afterlife. She has been so weak that it disgusts her and she cannot bring herself to share any stories with him.
Even stories about their children aren’t easy to come by - how can she mention how proud she is of Depp, how worried she is about where Cyprian might be, without also talking about how much she misses Risa? Their only daughter, dead before she had truly started to live. Guilt eats away at her, dividing her mind and fracturing her heart even further. Maybe she should have sought out Risa after she had heard the siren call of the dead - did they have time to try to find their daughter here so Agetta could bring her back? Give that sweet girl the life she deserved?
Every time her worries threaten to boil over and drown her, a gentle brush of Plume’s wings brings her back to the present.
Just as she’s about to work up the confidence to sort out her thoughts <i>with</i> him, he stops. Her attention turns before them and she sees a large archway out of the swirling mists. The sides look like trees, though the crowns have bent together and there are few stray branches. The two trees are twisted together but if Agetta focuses, she can see that one is living and one is dead.
Just as Agetta is thinking about how the ghost-mare had mentioned a guardian, a figure appears before the doorway, forming out of the swirling mists. The white mare steps a little closer to Plume, pressing against him (though never too hard, even though he’s dead she does not wish to harm his wings) as though she fears they might be separated here and now. Both of their attentions are on the figure before them. It is horse-like in shape and stature, but it is in constant change and fluctuation. One moment Agetta thinks she sees her mother, and then Rooke, then Risa (she gasps and Plume sucks in a breath as they face their daughter for that single heartbeat), and then other faces flicker. Some Agetta recognizes but most she doesn’t - the guardian is borrowing the likeness of the dead. Each familiar face feels like a blow - especially the ones that surprise her. Especially the ones that are foals.
But the eyes of the creature remain the same no matter how the body shifts each second - a deep, fathomless black. There’s no glint of light reflection in them, appearing for all the world as though they are just two deep holes.
“You escaped me once before, little star.” It isn’t so much a voice that comes from the figure, but a deep and alien rumble that echoes through Agetta’s mind. It is a splintered voice, stitched together from millions of other voices and it sends a chill running through her to hear it. “Why should I let you go again?”
This is Death.
And she does not have a good answer.
The truth is, she would not mind staying here - she might even be happier if she did. All her children have grown, hating her or not. Her counterpart is alive, and she does not know whether Atrox has been causing enough trouble to require her as a balance any more.
“She needs to go back.” Plume speaks when her own voice fails her and she feels a wave of love and gratitude wash over her. It feels true when he says it, as though it’s simple and not a decision that could cleave her in two. “It’s not time for her to stay yet.”
A clicking noise comes from Death and its ever-changing head tilts curiously to the side. “Perhaps. There are still things that must happen to her before she is ready.” ‘Uncomfortable’ is not strong enough of a word to explain the depth to which Agetta is unnerved by this discussion. Those eyes are not simply looking at her, but through her - into her mind, into her past… and into her future.
Kastiel’s face appears briefly as it remarks. “But she still escaped.” Although there is no possible way to tell which direction those shadowy eyes can be looking, Agetta nonetheless can sense when Death turns its attention to her. “A price is owed for the favour I granted.”
They are quiet for a moment, watching the flicker of Death’s face as it shifts from one ghost to another. “What do you ask?” Agetta speaks now, doing her best not to make her voice tremble - though she just barely manages it.
“Memories.” Comes the response, so quickly and with such an obvious hunger that the white mare flinches. She can feel Plume tensing beside her, and she asks the question she is sure they are both thinking:
“Of… what?”
Again that considering, clicking noise before it responded. “I’ll make my selection. Nothing you’ll miss, I think. You’ll remember your life, your family and friends. You might not even notice that I’ve taken anything, I’ll just snatch a few from the dark corners of your mind.” When the white mare seems to hesitate, Death continues - that horrible, twisted voice attempting to coax her out of her uncertainty. “You’ve already forgotten so much, little star. What’s a few more memories?”
It is a strange price, and a confusing one. It is just so, so incredibly vague.
But Plume nudges her, and she looks to him instead - finding it easier to think when she’s not staring into the black holes of Death’s eyes. “You should go, Agetta. There’s still more good you can do.” He presses his muzzle against her neck, and though neither of them are truly breathing she swears she can feel a stir against her skin. “You don’t have to save the world, but you can make it a little brighter.”
Is that his scent surrounding her, or just her memories of it? She hopes that this isn’t the price Death will take from her.
“Plume…” This is it. If she was ever going to ask - it would be now.
There aren’t any words that come to her, however, and instead they just embrace. She cannot ask him to sacrifice his peace just to bring some peace to her life. And he won’t ask her to stay. Not when she’s still got the chance at living. Their ‘I love you’s are whispered against each other’s skin and she lingers long enough that she swear she can hear Death sigh. Only then does the gate begin to pull her away from Plume, and she takes the first few, awful steps away from him. They don’t get easier.
As she slips through the gate, flashes of a dapple grey mare with icy eyes appear in her mind. At first, the sight of this mare brings rage and grief but then the image fades away, and each step it gets a little further away as though she is leaving it behind. The mists of the afterlife swirl around her, washing clean her mind, reaching and sweeping out some of the most horrible, awful traumas of her life and the one responsible.
It will seem like a gift. But it isn’t.
When she arrives on the beach again, her mind feels light - and there’s a smile on her face. A sad, sweet one, but a smile all the same. She doesn’t look behind her, doesn’t want to see that Plume isn’t with her any more. She can only hope that she’s helped open the rift enough so that they can speak every now and then.
This time, she’ll have such wonderful stories to tell.
</p> </div> <div class="agetta_name">Agetta</div> <img class="agetta_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/C5NM2zT9/agetta.png"> </div> </center>