prove to me you're not like them

The nighttime air hid Mae rather well among the stars. From below she seemed like the fleeting nightmarish shadows one experiences in the state between consciousness and sleep. Her mind was rather blank, preferring the silence of her inner voice to the normal weeping that always hid in the back of her mind, paired with pictures of Lyre. The coldness of her demeanor had done wonders to numb her pain, and the more she ignored it, the less loud it became.

It was no surprise to Mae when she found herself drawn to the smokey darkness that seemed to consume even the nighttime. The tendrils of smoke that danced along the edges flowed elegantly across the dark feathers. With each push of her wings, small whirlwinds of darkness would rapidly spin and just as quickly fade away. She paid little to no attention to the direction of her travel. However she soon noticed the landscape was vastly different from the one she had been flying above for so long.

Dipping her wings she landed quietly, immediately aware of the thick foliage that blocked out the sky. Vines and trees were thickly lined, causing Mae to quickly lose her sense of direction as she wove back and forth. Her ears flickered back and forth, acutely aware of the sounds washing over the land. For the first time in a long, long time, Mae felt alone, and maybe in the slightest bit scared. For one born in the darkness, she was sure afraid it. Tucking her wings tightly against her side, she paused to regain her bearings. She was lost, and she was alone.

{ooc; i messed up her age thing >.< also apologize for the roughness}

Hello. The wind whips around you, bearing cold teeth of warning, snapping and hounding, but...harmless.

Freeze is coming.

the Rift

image

[ ACCEPTANCE NOTES: MAETHARANEL ]
Welcome. <3

Slowly, the fever died.

Hope wilted.

He was the ashes left behind—gray and worn, dull and lifeless. Spent. A matted coat draped over a bony frame; hollows between his protruding ribs. His long mane and tail tangled and knotted. Sweat and grime crusted on his hide, like the memory of salt waves, only, the stains had never worn out.

And his eyes. The fever was gone, the intensity was gone, the urgency which had spurred him on—it was all just gone, along with his soul. In the wake of it was just a body, walking a foreign earth, robbed of everything but the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins.

Forgive me. His ghastly form roamed the veiled forest, the black smoke curving away from him, like a perversion of the Edge's mists. This, this place where the shadows pulsed and throbbed and the eyes flayed the skin from his back, was where it had begun, and where it had ended. It was the mouth which had swallowed him whole. It was the knife which had severed something in his soul. It was the poison.

He'd barely found anyone he knew, or rather, barely anyone he knew had found him. He hadn't looked. He hadn't cared. The best part of him, the only part that seemed to matter, had been taken from him.

He had chased shadows and rumors and moonbeams and dreams, but always come up empty-handed.

I'm sorry.

He stumbled through the forest. Jokingly, he had always called Helovia Hell-o-via, because no good ever seemed to happen there—it burned, everyone died, the gods did despicable things, and he got hurt. Those he loved got hurt. Over and over and over, the cycle always spinning on, one hurt avenging the next, until everyone had claims to everybody's blood. Only a few sought to water the earth with it, but enough to keep the strife and tension constant.

And if it wasn't them, the poor idiots who just seemed incapable of leaving, it was the gods spurring on the conflicts. He never got a good answer out of the Moon, why she'd done it, why she'd killed all those people, and now she was dead, too.

I can't do this anymore.

How bitterly he regretted complaining. How bitterly he regretted throwing himself into glaciers and oceans, thinking they would show their love for him only if he nearly died from them—wasting years he could've spent with them, for now.. many of them were lost, forever.

Dead. Dead, dead, dead.. and he lived on, as usual. Nothing changed there, at least, though it might soon. Parts of him hoped for one of the nameless terrors of the Rift to lumber out of the shadows and sink its teeth into him, end it once and for all, but—no. It hadn't happened yet, though if it did, he was easy prey. Not much meat on him, though.

No, not much meat at all. He was bones and skin with some flimsy strips of muscle in between, and he staggered into the presence of a pitch black mare. Elegant wings were folded to her sides, and her face was lit up with a white marking—blue eyes piercing through the haze and shadows of the Portal. He almost thought her a figment of his imagination, a bit of shadow coalesced into something to antagonize him, until he simply decided he'd had enough of blaming everything on himself.

It was still his fault, but, honestly? Making up monsters wasn't going to fix anything. The fever had run its course. The pain had clobbered him senseless. He was numb, and he was dying, and he was chasing starlight so pure it always ran from him.

"Hey," he said to the mare, his voice like gravel and rust, "you're in a bad place, kid." Because, at the grand age of fourteen, he figured he'd kind of earned being able to call everyone else 'kid'.

[ @Maetharanel ]

lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .

Maetharanel was not alone for long- or as long as she would’ve like anyways. Soon within her presence was an elderly looking male, white as snow speckled with flecks of ashes. He even had a horn, how quaint. She remained quiet in his presence, until he spoke, calling her a child. Maetharanel tilted her head in a condescending matter, offering a tilted smile in reply to his comment. ”And why is that, Elder? Her voice was cool, leaning heavily into the word Elder. It wasn’t presented in a disrespectful or mean manner, it was just poking fun at his casual use of the word kid.

Considering she was sexually active, being considered a child was morbidly amusing.

She flicked her tail lazily against her flanks, merely giving the stallion in her presence a once over. ”You don’t look like you’d survive anywhere. I’m sure I’d be able to survive here if you’ve lived long enough to find me.” She mused aloud. Maetharanel wasn’t trying to be rude, she was simply being blunt with her observations. Whether from age or some weird past occurrence, Maetharanel would never know the reason for his bedraggled state. Maybe he was just a drifter- and decided that it would be good to look the part. Funny if that were the case, even Maetharanel was drifting along, but she would never allow herself to degrade in such a way.

”I’m assuming you have a name.” She pointed out, raising her head a bit more to try to stand even with his height. That was her one qualm with her body, she seemed so fucking short compared to everyone else. Although that did more than once lead to a very promiscuous-

”I’m Maetharanel.” She shrugged her shoulders, easily brushing off her drifting thoughts. ”Care to inform me where I am, or will you continue to speak like a wise old crier.” The jab at his age couldn’t be helped, he set himself up for it. Frankly, you don’t go around calling others children (especially children, they were literally the worst at taking jokes) and expect no retaliation. A quick smirk settled on her lips as she fell quiet.

Curious. She had never encountered someone so brazen before- then again he was (kind of in a way if you close your eyes) running around shouting to leave this place.