Vision of Hope

AURELIA Aurelia was having fun now. The touches, the brushes, his tresses whipping her side, leaving a delicious sting. It was all in good fun. Of course, this was a rare occurrence for the golden babe. There was no desire for chaos or destruction here, just flirting. They were playing a game for adults now, every move seemingly carefree, but truthfully not so much. Rixen was seemingly perceptive the gold beluga whale next to him (or at least that's what the pregnant mare felt like) which was halfway surprising, but not completely. When he piped up and answered her, his voice was husky. He claims his favorite color is green. The pegasus could see him liking green; he looked like a green-lover (whatever that even means, really). He, again, doesn't divulge any information. Aurelia was tired of coaxing him out of his shell, so when he simply asks what she wants to know, she asks a simple, vague question that he can answer in a multitude of ways. "Tell me, Rixen," she says softly, kindly. "Have you ever been in love?" The question felt surreal leaving her lips. Had she really asked that? Love was such a strange concept. You could fall in love. You could be in love. You could fall out of love. And somehow it feels like you aren't living your life to its fullest if you never find love. Why are horses that are reclusive, loveless beings expected to change themselves to conform to a world that expects everyone to be in herds, groups, pairs. Aurelia, for one, was turning away from the idea of love. She doubted she'd find it again, and if she did she was sure it wouldn't last. "I think I've been in love before," she mused to the stallion. "What counts as being 'in love'?" Had she been in love with Destry? or Gaucho or Mauja or Africa? Had she been in love with Voodoo or Rostislav? Kahlua? Was she in love with Rixen? The answer to these questions was all probably no, but what really counts? If she teetered back and forth on the fine line between love and hate- could it ever really count as true love? "Certainly someone has been in love with you." It was such a quietly said statement that the stallion probably wouldn't have even heard it. She meant more by it. He was kind and attractive and sweet and easy-going, but what was Aurelia? Of course someone would love him- he was the epitome of normal, but for Aurelia... who? The simple statement was a compliment to the stallion, but an insult to herself. Of course someone could love him, but no one would her. She had to quietly recompose herself. Her thoughts were beginning to scatter. The darker part of her brain, the part where her soul had been ripped from her body when her companion died, began reeling. It was as if the seams of her mind were being torn apart and shredded. By recomposing herself, she was able to gain control of her mind again. There was no need to fall off the wagon, not now, hopefully not ever. à la folie; to madness

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