Beqanna - Meadow

now the sky is opalite; any

Wed, 21 Oct 2026 15:07:08 -0400

now the sky is opalite

She prefers the night. It shouldn't be surprising considering she was born with the stars. They flowed through her blood and body, comforting and warm, but it was more than likely that her mother also preferred the night so the darkness with a glittering sky just felt like home. The trio would spend evenings under the stars together, telling stories and playing with their magic. Her sister was more playful and a trickster. Starwise would work so hard to form a small animal from starlight, only for Starvein to come along and poof it away with a bit of wind that seemed to whoosh from her wings, giggling the whole time.

Despite being twins they were quite opposite. She was always quieter, calmer. Happiest when she could play with the stars in peace. Starwise was chaotic. She was always unpredictable. Loud, high energy, and to Starwise, she was incredibly annoying. Even their mother was clearly flustered by her twin's antics more often than not.

Tonight, she was pleasantly alone. Her skeletal sister and mother were off doing their own thing, likely bickering about whatever shenanigans Vi had gotten into lately. She closed her eyes against the cool night breeze while the snowflakes that always drifted into her star riddled mane and tail fluttered around her while the black and starry tendrils floated gently with the wind. A deep breath of fresh air filled her lungs and her eyes opened to admire the glittering sky. She shifted her weight a little before settling her focus in front of her, starlight glowing brighter and taking shape of a small rabbit. The glowing creature stood on its hind legs, looking back at her. She smiled softly and admired her creation.

starwise

Image by Pexel

shatter every window 'til its all blown away; call pony

Tue, 20 Oct 2026 11:41:59 -0400

batten down, baby, its a hell of a storm

The years have healed her, physically. The wounds have been mended to puckered black scars against her porcelain hide. Aside from the flowery pink "C" branded on her jaw, she is as whole as she ever was. What the years cannot do is heal her mind, and certainly not her heart.

Time has no dominion over the heart or the brain. If anything, time has abandoned them completely, leaving them entirely alone and without aid. When shes alone, especially at night, her mind starts to wander back to the top of that mountain. Her dreams are plagued with sinister red eyes, soft doe-like blue eyes, and razor sharp claws ripping through them both.

The meadow is active tonight. Here and there she catches the occasional glimpse of horses, and hears their giggles as they are caught in the throws of breeding season. Other than the one time with the kind, snake-like stranger, she took no part. Who would want her for a mother, being the broken thing that she is? That child was long gone and good riddance to her; Wayfair found her unsettling, her fragile mine unable to wrap around the strange girl. Thankfully, she no longer had to hear what they were thinking, only what they were saying, and that was easy enough to block out. Her reptilian eyes begin to glow as the wind blows to her, making the dying leaves on the trees rustle loudly in protest.

Not quiet, but certainly peaceful.

Wayfair

between the sunbeams; the sky

Sat, 03 Oct 2026 12:30:19 -0400

She is full and clean and warm, and it takes little else to put Mafdet right to sleep, white belly up in the warm summer sun for a long and glorious nap. Her dreams are uncomplicated - catching an emerald beetle, pouncing on a crunchy leaf - and a soft purr emanates from her chest as she dozes.

When she wakes, the wide black pupils narrow to vertical slits as she rolls over, revealing a brilliant shade of blue a near match for the cloudless sky overhead. Mafdet yawns, revealing a mouth of sharp white teeth, then rewashes her white forepaw until it glistens in the sun. The warmth of the earth lingers pleasantly against her belly, and she stretches each orange leg in turn before settling again.

The cat leisurely adjusts herself into a sitting position, her full orange tail moving slowly from side to side as she looks around. The Meadow is much the same as it had been before her catnap, tall green grasses waving in the wind. The scent of a hare reaches her twitching pink nose, and the song of a warbler nested in the tall stalks nearby fills the warm summer air.

In the east, there is a tall oak just visible over the tall grass, and she considers it. The wide branches are good for sleeping, but would it be too cool in the shade? Only one way to find out, she supposes, and begins to walk toward the tree, leaving small pawprints between the halfmoon tread of hooves.

this love like a hole, swallow my soul; vlx

Tue, 29 Sep 2026 15:39:23 -0400

yes i know that love is like ghosts,
few have seen it but everybody talks —

She had felt the shift in the veil even if she had been nowhere near that desolate beach.

Their voices, usually delegated to background whispers, had gradually risen in volume until they became impossible to ignore. Their excitement was nearly tangible, with a frantic undertone that almost made her uneasy. In her experience it was never a good sign when they became restless; when they started to think they could have back all the things they had lost. When she had been younger and newly cursed, this had been the thing that plagued her most, the knowing that there was nothing she could do to help them. She could not resurrect them; she could not right whatever wrongs they had left behind in their lives. And yet that had done nothing to keep them from begging, pleading, bargaining, and it was only her fear of becoming one of them that kept her on this side of the afterlife.

She has grown now, and finally learned the best way to bear this burden. She has let go of that melancholic bitterness that had settled in her heart after she had briefly tasted magic (and the ability to control the voices) before having it ripped from her. She has learned how to ignore them, to feign indifference so thoroughly that they give up and dissipate back into nothing.

But this would change things. If someone had tampered with the gate that kept them on the other side, there is no telling how far it might escalate. Some of that old fear begins to creep back in, a nervous uptick of her pulse, an anxious flush beneath her skin. She could not let herself devolve back into that haunted, terrified girl she had been for so many years,

And so she goes to the meadow, where even in the pressing dark still felt livelier than anywhere else. She did not have anyone to find; she had isolated herself so thoroughly that all previous connections had been severed, and any new ones she never gave the chance to form. But she knew that here, at least, she would not be alone.

He is so dark that at first she doesn’t see him, and if she had not been cursed with her ghost whispering for most of her life she might have mistaken him for one of them. But she feels it, his very essence of being alive—the soft thud of a heartbeat, the quiet inhale and exhale of a breath, the warmth of someone with blood rushing in their veins. She is drawn to his eyes, the brightest thing that she can see, golden and glowing in the dark.

Like a moth to his flame she is drawn closer, the rubies on her face still glinting dully in the faded light. “Can you see them, too?” She asks, her voice a sweetened hush in the already quiet meadow. There is a tentative kind of hope in her question, at the idea that she will not be the only one to be plagued by Beqanna’s ghosts.

Narya

— spirits follow everywhere i go,
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night

There ain't language for the things I've seen; Call pony/any

Sun, 27 Sep 2026 10:55:08 -0400

I took a little journey to the unknown.
And I’ve come back changed, I can feel it in my bones.

His chest was tight while he grieved his lost paradise; he didn’t look back at the bodies and only chuffed bitterly at the rain, sneering at the stink of charred flesh over burnt timber. Sickness took some, fire took the others. Both engineered by creatures too stupid and greedy to see the damage they were causing until it was too late. Such was the curse of the immortal, they had so much time at their disposal that they never considered the destruction they left in their wake. And so, he left Eden to the snakes.

?˖ ࣪⊹

Beqanna was under the cover of an unusual darkness when Vlx returned.

He was certain that it should have been daylight by now, but when he crested the mountaintops, the sun did not rise to meet him on the other side and he stared blankly toward The Beach. There was an enormous black creature outlined in golden light in the distance. Vlx sighed. If it wasn’t the faeries or the gods themselves causing everyone in Beqanna issues, it was the dead.

Vlx stared for a moment longer, then pressed on, following the ancient trail southward to The Meadow. It was not lost on him the implication of the old trail being so overgrown.

?˖ ࣪⊹

There were ghosts in the old Meadow.

He could hear the giggling of spectral lovers. The war cry of old, dead stallions quarreling over mares who didn’t love them and children who wouldn’t remember them. The sobbing of the betrayed. The rendering of flesh ripped from bone by horses too far gone to save. Something in them had just been wrong from the start. But they were the start of it all. The fabric of what had made Beqanna, Beqanna.

And the fabric, it seemed, had started to unravel.

He stood atop a withering knoll, the wind at his back; he was practically invisible now in that persistent darkness, the only light, it seemed, for miles around was the dim yellow-gold glow of his eyes and the glow of other creatures who slipped to and from the place. None seemed to linger. They had better places to be. Vlx cocked his head, his ears swiveling forward as he tried to scan the Meadow to no avail. They all might as well have been blind under their present condition.

“It’s always something,” he muttered, his voice deep and low.

Vlx

atrox x laiyna

darling, be patient, zohariel

Sun, 27 Sep 2026 01:13:51 -0400

i still chase you into heartache
Every time you take a step

The stars have gone quiet, still.
It has been years now since she last drew them out of the sky, casting the meadow in stark celestial light. She has retreated into herself, Liesma, crawling back into her own ribcage inch by inch, her own light dimming by degrees.

She had given birth to a star burnt out, collapsed, so pitch dark that he was visible even at night. Not only dark but a complete absence of light, her Mutiny. And she had loved him, but he’d brought with him a kind of fear that she could neither digest nor shake. It festered in her gut, the space around her heart, it tightened like a rope around her neck. Worse than the fear was that he had known he was the cause and she had been powerless to convince him otherwise. She could not love him fiercely enough to make him light.

This was the last time she had drawn down the stars, see. She had pulled them down around the boy, let them kiss his skin. She had hoped, so foolishly, that she might inject him with their light. Their light, however, had not even reflected in his eyes.

She has not seen him since. Nor has she called upon the stars.

But she goes to the meadow now and she thinks of him, her son. She misses him with a fierceness that surprises her. And she blames herself for her inability to save him from her own fear. From his own darkness.

She calls them down now, tugs them out of the sky, drapes them across her shoulders. She tells them about her son, Mutiny, she asks them to keep him safe. And then some distant sound sends them scattering, her attention stolen by the disturbance, and she turns to face the interloper.

Her pulse hitches, her breath catching sharply.

“Zo,” she sighs into the quiet.

liesma —

way down we go --

Tue, 22 Sep 2026 17:46:52 -0400

By the time Caster reached the meadow, the mist had swallowed the path behind him. A grey veil draped against the viridian plainness of trees, of leaf, of grass. His steady hoofsteps pressed neatly into the soft, rain-soaked earth, each beat leaving a mark in its wake as the blades brushed wet against his fetlocks.

A quiet calm settled against his ears, interrupted sparingly by birdcalls, each more beckoning than the next with a sense of inquiry. Possibility held him still. The prickly feeling of ghostly whispers in the early morning air clung to him with a strange familiarity, reminding him of something, someone he couldn’t fully recall. Caster could not have said whether he hoped the mist would give someone back to him, or keep them hidden a little longer. He’d been here before, of course he had, and yet, a sense of exactly here unfurled itself against the softest portions of his thoughts.

October was soon to usher away September's warmth, and the rustle of leaves would replace this entrancing hush before he knew it.

For all the meadow’s quiet, he could not help but let his mind wander, ears flicking, tail following with a lazy swish. Caster had nearly been lulled into listening for something, and it was the sudden absence of birdsong that drew his attention with sharpness. The monochromatic pendulum of his tail stilled. Somewhere beyond the mist, something had disturbed the treeline. Caster turned an ear toward it and waited.

caster

words: tags: HTML by Call

to know me is to hate me, fireheart

Sun, 20 Sep 2026 18:08:55 -0400

— i would rather learn what it feels like to burn than feel nothing at all —

It has been days now since her brush with death.

Her lungs still ached, and there is a faint rattle when she inhales. But her bones no longer felt heavy, not the way they had when she had finally awoken on the frozen bank. Some would say that she is lucky to be alive, but it had not been relief that she had felt when her eyes opened to the bleary, unfocused view of a mountain range pressed against a bright blue sky. Laying in the snow, with the fire on her skin slowly rekindling and flickering to life, she had not felt grateful to have avoided such a wretched end. She hadn’t felt disappointed either, though; just a dull indifference.

Something is different, though she cannot yet pinpoint it.
There are strange, irregular patches on her body where the fire had not yet returned, revealing instead a charred surface and a fire-glow orange beneath it. She assumes that the fire will return later. As much as she wanted to brush off what had happened, she supposes there is a chance that being submerged in such icy waters for a considerable time had inflicted some type of damage. She tried not to think about that, and what it could mean; if she would be forced to learn to navigate the world with a new kind of damage.

Here in the meadow, spring is well upon the land, and she revels in the warmth. She had departed from the mountains as quickly as her frozen bones would allow her to, and she cannot deny that it is a relief to see a field of green, awash in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. The meadow is the one place she has realized that always seemed unchanged, safe, the anchor that kept Beqanna from becoming unmoored. She would have been content to settle on the outskirts to simply observe and perhaps finally seek rest for her body that had so recently cheated death if not for a familiar face that she catches at the corner of her vision. She turns her head, holding him in her firelit gaze, hesitating. She is terrible at companionship, conversation, and all the other things that could make her even remotely pleasant to be around. But she remembers him and the way he had not been afraid of her fire, and her tired mind thinks that it might be nice to not have to worry for the safety of anyone right now.

“Fireheart,” she recalls his name once she is close enough, her body still burning bright even in the middle of the day, and even with the patches of fire missing. Somewhere beneath the flickering flames on her face she might have offered him a small smile. “It’s been awhile.”

Brinly

image by littlewillow-art

basically after falling in the icy river/snow, her summer appearance is starting to disappear in patches, leaving behind pieces that look charred & glowing

the world was on fire & nobody could save me but you; any

Mon, 24 Aug 2026 13:16:07 -0400

Every passing minute made him wonder why he came back in the first place. No Valley, no raids, no plotting or schemes. Just the dull quiet of a dead and dying land every which way he turned his head.

That simply would not do. He was nothing if not a master of chaos.

Night time in the Meadow would be the perfect place to stir things up. It had been some time since he had flexed his magical muscles, and though he did enjoy a good show of power he had no intentions of burning their sleepy little world to ash. Not all of it, anyways. His gaze fell on a particularly bare spot and with nothing more than a toss of his head the dirt caught fire. He urged the flames higher and higher, until nearly the entire Meadow was bathed in a warm, orange glow. With a smirk he waited, sure that his flames would draw someone out to him.

Ooc: Want to do some short, no pressure posts? Need to knock the dust off? Flamevein has started a bonfire in the meadow! Feel free to join the party! BYOB lmao

Chaos and Whimsy; any

Thu, 30 Jul 2026 13:27:17 -0400

The afternoon has gone slow and golden, the kind of warmth that settles into a coat and refuses to leave. Tipsy stands half-folded in a patch of tall meadow grass, one hind hoof tipped up to rest, her head drooping lower by the minute. The lavender sways somewhere behind her. Bees drone on in the middle distance. It is, by every measure, a perfect afternoon for doing absolutely nothing, and she has committed to the task fully.

Her fox-fire has gone lazy around her, the small green flames drifting in loose, sleepy circles, dimming and brightening in a rhythm that has started to match her breathing. The water lilies at her chest glow soft and slow. Her neon wings lie loose against her hindquarters, giving the occasional half-hearted flutter where they rise from her dock, shedding a faint sparkle of dust that no longer seems worth the effort of noticing. Her antennae droop. One elongated ear swivels toward a far-off sound, decides it is nothing, and gives up.

Her eyes slide closed.

The meadow tips gently sideways in that pleasant, weightless way a place does right before sleep takes it, colors going soft at the edges, the warmth folding over her like a hand. She does not fight it. She sways once. Her lower lip goes slack.

Somewhere in the drift, a small green flame breaks orbit and wanders off into the grass, curious, unattended, leaving a faint trail of glow behind it.

all love must leave

Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:02:40 -0400

can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars,
I could really use a wish right now;

Once, she had been alone on purpose, and hated it.

She hadn’t known yet how to shield herself from the emotions that rolled off them in waves, overwhelmed by their anger and their sorrow. It was not a power she had been born with, and certainly not one she had asked for. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask her mother for help—her mother, that angel-beauty with the wicked morals that Evenstar never could make sense of. It didn’t matter that Ryatah could have taught her how to close herself off, to only let in what she wanted to get in.

Self-imposed exile had been the easier (weaker) option, hiding where their emotions could not find her.

But the lands are not as they had once been, and soon the solitude had not been a choice. No longer did she have to go to the far shores or the depths of the forest to evade the masses; they did not exist. And she finds that she misses it—misses their medley of emotion, being pulled by the tide of their despair and buoyed by their joy.

She is alone now, and still she hates it.

She stands now in a quiet meadow, beneath the hush of night. There is the soft rustling of a cold wind through dying leaves, the empty knocking of bare limbs against one another, but otherwise it is silent. It had been a relatively mild winter, and though there was no snow on the ground the grass had a dull, tired look to it, as if it had given up and would instead sleep until spring. She could not say that she blamed it.

Something about the cold seemed to make the stars shine brighter, she thought, as she looked up at them through the soft plumes of her breath in the air. It was a cloudless sky, and the night seemed to stretch on for infinity, glittering black, with the starlight blinking like a thousand suns. She watches, confused and transfixed, as starlight seems to stream towards her, the ribbons of it braiding together in their descent until they collide with her skin. For a moment, her body flashes white-hot, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise.

She cannot explain it, but she can feel them, the stars that now burned inside of her chest. They hum like electricity, threading themselves through her veins much like the empathy had. Hesitantly, she reaches for that thread of power, letting it flare and staring in wonder at the silver starlight that creates a shield around her.

I'm praying that this stairway leads somewhere like Heaven's door,
and when you get there don't look down

evenstar

she was swallowed by the sky { any }

Wed, 01 Jul 2026 17:54:39 -0400

With the grace of a swan Aera drifted carefully down to the meadow below, setting to the ground in a lofty canter with wings beating to keep her landing smooth. Her venture from the Gates had not been too long having taken to the skies rather than walking. Plus she wanted to avoid traversing the forest now that winter had finally arrived. She never liked the feeling in that place so she skirted around the forest, choosing to keep well away and to where the air was the least frigid along the route.. She breathed a sigh of relief as she slowed to a walk and made her way toward one of the many creeks that were woven like lace throughout the meadowland. She dipped her finely dished head to the water's surface and shivered as the frigid water caressed her pink velvet muzzle and drew in a large gulp, shivering slightly as the icy water slid down her parched throat. She had forgotten just how cold the meadow got this time of year in comparison to her beloved spring-like home in the Gates. She had not stopped to graze or drink on her way here either, too set on her course and in her head to think of her own hunger and thirst, so she gasped lightly after she swallowed the last mouthful of the cool mountain fed creek water.

Her breathing had finally steadied into a slow rhythm as her blood settled from it's pounding in her veins. She never knew when to take breaks, even in her many years of life she still had yet to figure out her own limits. She didn't ever let that stop her, her drive for social interaction triumphed over all else. She was eager to converse, to find anyone to listen to. She loved adding stories to her arsenal, learning about others and each of their unique and vastly different lives. She never tired of it, and only wished to learn more. Be it knowledge or personal stories of life, she was like a blank tome ready to receive those bits of knowledge and life. It was as if it was the drive that kept her life eternal. She smiled to herself, her eyes softening as she recalled past stories she learned from those she met within the last century and twenty years. The life lessons she learned and pondering on what she had yet to. Her gaze drifted across the cold meadow and her feathers were puffed up at her sides to keep the air within them and her body beneath well insulated since her winter coat was little more than a light layer of hair beneath her sleek coat of cream and dappled gold. She did not call out, only surveyed. She knew eventually company wiould find their way to her.

a e r a

would you break even my wings like a swallow?

lay all your troubles down, any

Wed, 18 Mar 2026 14:32:26 -0400

i’m a foolish, fragile spine—

This she knows for sure: she is loved. She knows it in her mother’s softness and the persistent worry in her father’s eyes. She knows it in the warmth of her mother’s embrace and how, though he never touches her, her father smiles like something secret.

And it is such a brilliant thing, to be loved. To find courage in the knowledge that, should she fall, her parents would be there to lift her back up. It makes her brave, curious. It makes her soft, too, to be loved. There’s a heart that beats strong in her chest, stronger than most, it is her father’s heart, and it is not immune to aching. This she has inherited from her father, this penchant for worry. But she smiles like her mother.

Leliel, she is such a stunning combination of the both of them, Israfel and Selaphiel. It is her mother’s innocence that saves her whimsy, it is her father’s seriousness that keeps her grounded. Her head is in the clouds, you see, but her feet are heavy on the ground. She laughs but there is some weight to it, because she is equal parts her mother and her father.

She has been wandering farther and farther from the safe glen of love in which she has spent her youth. Her legs are longer now, stronger, as is her desire to know the world beyond the light of her parents. Her father does not want her to go, but he understands that he cannot keep her. Selaphiel, he would not dream of dampening his daughter’s spirit, though sometimes he thinks he can smell death on her already.

It is warm in the meadow, the height of afternoon, and she delights in the way wildflowers slide past her knees, her belly. How delightful it is to be alive on an afternoon like this, she thinks. How splendid it is simply to be alive.

She thinks to nap here amongst the wildflowers, let the steady hum of wind lull her to sleep. But she is thirsty for knowledge, a glutton for learning. She wants to explore every corner of the world, keen to lay her eyes on every creature that calls this place home. And she finds some strange, some wondrous, some that do not appear to be creatures at all.

She has wandered farther than she ever has before and, as evening begins to creep in and shadows begin to lean down across the meadow, she realizes that she has lost her way back. She does not panic, though, only scans the horizon for a figure. And when she finds one, she approaches slowly, cautious only in the way she does not want to startle them. And she smiles without shyness when she asks, “excuse me, do you know the way back to the ruins?”

—i want all that is not mine

I think I'll take my whiskey neat; Cassi pony

Mon, 16 Mar 2026 13:16:05 -0400

Once upon a time, he had given his heart over to another. He had given it freely and without any expectations other than to be loved in return.

She had loved him in return. They had loved fiercely and without restraint, the kind of love sonnets were written about. The kind of love that shifted the heavens.

But as happens too often, their moment had been fleeting. It only made sense. After all, the stars that burn the brightest are the first ones to fall. And fall their star did, leaving nothing in the sky but velveteen black where once something beautiful had been. That had been years ago, and though the memories have faded some the sting still remains, firmly settled in the place where his heart had been.

He doesn't know why he returns, or even how long ago he had left. Something about home called to him though. A tingling at first that quickly became a bone-deep ache and a tightness in his chest. It was impossible to ignore and he was too tired to fight it, so he set about that familiar path to the place he was born. He recognizes no one, nor does he expect to. Even when this place had been the only thing he knew, his eyes were only for her, and she is long gone.

She took his love when she left, but she saw fit to leave his life alone. Small blessing indeed, if one could even consider it a blessing.

Word count: 251
Ooc- there will eventually be html and this will get better >.<

Welcome to the World Little One

Thu, 26 Feb 2026 16:41:35 -0500

TW: Very lightly eluded to birth? I tried to keep it subtle and not in your face but this was the only way it came to me.

A hush settled over the clearing as Nelke’s first contraction tightened through her belly. She froze where she stood, breath catching in her throat, as if even the act of breathing too loudly might draw danger closer. The night around her felt impossibly large. The trees loomed like silent witnesses. No voices. No comforting presence. Only the wind and the soft rustle of grass beneath her trembling hooves.

She lowered her head, nostrils brushing the earth, grounding herself in the faint scent of dust and crushed leaves. Her sides quivered. Another wave of pressure rolled through her and she let out a tiny, apologetic sound, barely more than a breath. She had always been a quiet creature, gentle to the point of disappearing, and now the weight of being alone pressed as sharply as the pain itself.

Her ears flicked at every distant noise. A branch shifting. A bird settling. Each sound made her flinch, her body torn between instinct to flee and instinct to stay. "It's all right. Just Breathe, you can do this." She whispered to herself in soft, shaky exhales. The next moment of pain was a flash through her abdomen and she felt the rush of it all and the fact that this was It she was finally having her foal that had grown safely inside her. She was stronger now but she was still scared of the pain that rocked her.

Then the pressure broke. A small, wet weight settled into the grass behind her. Nelke lifted her head, breath shuddering, and turned. A colt lay there, slick and blinking, his first breath a tiny, uncertain sound. Wonder softened her fear. She reached out, touching her muzzle to his damp flank.

"Inerak. My little wonder." She said as she turned and stood slowly then began licking his damp fur and nickering softly to him. She was standing and trying to get her colt to do the same, he was her son and soon she'd run at his side.

When he finally found his shaky legs she gave a soft sound and nuzzled into him. "My son."

Word Count for 2026: 351
Total: 1,041