Though never impartial to or against company, Margot finds a slight tweak in her spine at the unassuming arrival of a stallion. She blinks her glassy doe-eyes at him, lashes fluttering to her cheek so slowly they might be a still in a black-and-white movie. That ever-sweet smile curls her mouth—an instinct, as quick as a predator’s—despite the imperceptible tension in her body.
“Miss?” the porcelain woman laughs, a lilting giggle born of genuine amusement. “I don’t think I’ve been addressed as ‘miss’ since I was a little girl,” Margot adds teasingly, then dares to wander a few steps closer to Jesper.
“A pleasure to meet you, Jesper. My name is Margot,” she introduces herself with little aplomb, tail swishing casually back and forth across her hocks.
That girlish smile stays quietly on Margot’s lips as she studies the stranger. His eyes—already a true blue without the accent of his dark coat—stand out starkly against his black fur. Ghostly, almost. Like the spirits dancing around the newly-returned lands all over Beqanna. Perhaps he is but a specter, some soul lost in a loop; perhaps she is just he same miss, a different stranger offered the same cordiality in the hopes to end his madness.
A small sigh escapes Margot’s chest, the tiniest glimpse into her wandering thoughts. No specter stands before her.
“Is this an old haunt of yours, Jesper? All these lands risen from the dead and I . . . I only recognize this one,” she murmurs, cocking her head to the side.
@
Jesper