12-07-2019, 03:29 AM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cormorant|Great Vibes" rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><style>.lilt_container {width: 500px; background-color: #352541; border: 1px solid #EAEAEA; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 0px}.lilt_name {position: relative; z-index: 1; font: 60px 'Great Vibes', serif; color: #766881; bottom: -1px; left: 140px; letter-spacing: 0px}.lilt_quote {text-align: center; font: 15px 'Cormorant', serif; color: #766881; letter-spacing: 0px; padding: 5px}.lilt_message {width: 450px; text-align: justify; font: 12px 'Times', serif; color:#EAEAEA; background-color: #352541; opacity: 0.7; padding:25px;}</style><center><div class="lilt_container"><div class="lilt_quote"><br>{ and all we are is skin and bone trained to get along,<br>forever going with the flow but you're friction }</div><div class="lilt_message">She steps into the cool water, and the shock of it against her hot skin makes her gasp. She takes another step, and then another, until the water is up to her shoulders. She bites her lip to stifle a whimper at the initial sting as it touches the ragged gashes that the lion had left behind, but eventually the coolness seems to numb it, and she closes her eyes on an unsteady sigh.
For the second time today she opens her eyes to something different than what she had closed them to.
She feels her heart constrict in her chest and she tries to swallow the knot of anxiety away as it threatens to climb up her throat. She was not cut out for adventure, she has discovered, as the oasis fades away around her. Her mother was bold and unafraid, and her father was not the kind to back away from a challenge if one arose. Her older brother was clever and daring, and she is sure that he would have found all of this to be strangely exhilarating.
She was not like them, though. She was timid and quiet, and as the scenes begin to unfold before her she wonders if she will have what it takes to complete what is being asked of her.
The black mare is first, and from the angle at which Lilt stands she can see her lips moving but she cannot make out what she says. Reading lips was still awkward and difficult for her, and the frantic look in the mare’s eyes matched the rapid movements of her mouth, making it impossible for Lilt to decipher anything. She shakes her head in frustration, blinking away the tears that threaten to build in her silver eyes again, and she focuses instead on the second scene.
This one is far more violent, and before it even begins there is a feeling of foreboding that sinks into her bones.
She is grateful that for right now, she is just a bystander. Grateful that there is some sort of magical barrier that keeps her from accidentally shattering one or both of them as the anxiety swells inside of her at the sight of their clashing bodies and the blood that stains the palomino mare’s brilliant coat. But she stares, captivated by the stallion’s vibrantly orange eyes, thinking how of all the colors she doesn’t think she has ever seen eyes quite like that before. They are eerily beautiful, she thinks, and so she sucks in a breath when he strikes himself so brutally.
She doesn’t watch long enough to see if he succeeds. She has already made her decision, and it is not because she thinks the black mare is any more worthy of life than the golden mare. But with the image of the lion strung into pieces across the sand still burned into her mind, and now this, she isn’t sure if she can stomach any more violence.
She isn’t sure if <i>she</i> has what it takes to stop the dark stallion. It would be easy for her to do, she knows. She could shatter him, she could breathe fire from the depths of her throat, but both of those options sounded so <i>awful</i> she is not sure if she could live with herself afterward.
When she surges forward, it is towards the black mare.
She thinks she calls out to her, but like a nightmare, she is sure her voice is not loud enough. It feels like it is trapped in her throat, a strangled whisper, and since the mare does not turn she knows that she has failed to divert her attention.
With ground-eating strides her wings spread, and with a thrust of her hindquarters she is air-born. There is no hesitation when she leaps over the cliff’s edge just as Anatomy’s front hoof stumbles over the ledge, and Lilt forces herself to not look down at the jagged rocks below as she cuts in front of her. Their bodies collide, and though Lilt is still small – she was young, not quite two – the strength behind her wings is enough to shove the mare back on to flat ground. The two of them stumble away from the cliff, and it is only once she is sure the other is safe that she staggers backwards, her flanks heaving. It was sheer, stupid luck that she hadn’t accidentally exploded the other mare on contact. Her lack of control, all the more faulty from adrenaline, and the combination of the force of their collision should have ended in disaster but somehow they both were here, entirely whole.<i> “Don’t,”</i> she gasps, her voice hushed and weak since she rarely spoke – always afraid of being too loud.<i> “I don’t know who you were looking for, but they are not out there.”</i></div><div class="lilt_name">Lilt</div></div></center>
For the second time today she opens her eyes to something different than what she had closed them to.
She feels her heart constrict in her chest and she tries to swallow the knot of anxiety away as it threatens to climb up her throat. She was not cut out for adventure, she has discovered, as the oasis fades away around her. Her mother was bold and unafraid, and her father was not the kind to back away from a challenge if one arose. Her older brother was clever and daring, and she is sure that he would have found all of this to be strangely exhilarating.
She was not like them, though. She was timid and quiet, and as the scenes begin to unfold before her she wonders if she will have what it takes to complete what is being asked of her.
The black mare is first, and from the angle at which Lilt stands she can see her lips moving but she cannot make out what she says. Reading lips was still awkward and difficult for her, and the frantic look in the mare’s eyes matched the rapid movements of her mouth, making it impossible for Lilt to decipher anything. She shakes her head in frustration, blinking away the tears that threaten to build in her silver eyes again, and she focuses instead on the second scene.
This one is far more violent, and before it even begins there is a feeling of foreboding that sinks into her bones.
She is grateful that for right now, she is just a bystander. Grateful that there is some sort of magical barrier that keeps her from accidentally shattering one or both of them as the anxiety swells inside of her at the sight of their clashing bodies and the blood that stains the palomino mare’s brilliant coat. But she stares, captivated by the stallion’s vibrantly orange eyes, thinking how of all the colors she doesn’t think she has ever seen eyes quite like that before. They are eerily beautiful, she thinks, and so she sucks in a breath when he strikes himself so brutally.
She doesn’t watch long enough to see if he succeeds. She has already made her decision, and it is not because she thinks the black mare is any more worthy of life than the golden mare. But with the image of the lion strung into pieces across the sand still burned into her mind, and now this, she isn’t sure if she can stomach any more violence.
She isn’t sure if <i>she</i> has what it takes to stop the dark stallion. It would be easy for her to do, she knows. She could shatter him, she could breathe fire from the depths of her throat, but both of those options sounded so <i>awful</i> she is not sure if she could live with herself afterward.
When she surges forward, it is towards the black mare.
She thinks she calls out to her, but like a nightmare, she is sure her voice is not loud enough. It feels like it is trapped in her throat, a strangled whisper, and since the mare does not turn she knows that she has failed to divert her attention.
With ground-eating strides her wings spread, and with a thrust of her hindquarters she is air-born. There is no hesitation when she leaps over the cliff’s edge just as Anatomy’s front hoof stumbles over the ledge, and Lilt forces herself to not look down at the jagged rocks below as she cuts in front of her. Their bodies collide, and though Lilt is still small – she was young, not quite two – the strength behind her wings is enough to shove the mare back on to flat ground. The two of them stumble away from the cliff, and it is only once she is sure the other is safe that she staggers backwards, her flanks heaving. It was sheer, stupid luck that she hadn’t accidentally exploded the other mare on contact. Her lack of control, all the more faulty from adrenaline, and the combination of the force of their collision should have ended in disaster but somehow they both were here, entirely whole.<i> “Don’t,”</i> she gasps, her voice hushed and weak since she rarely spoke – always afraid of being too loud.<i> “I don’t know who you were looking for, but they are not out there.”</i></div><div class="lilt_name">Lilt</div></div></center>