Incantations

RIXEN and if you are to love, love as the moon loves; "Why so touchy? I asked a simple question. I wasn't expecting to evoke such a...response." I spoke seemingly with little regard for his obviously injured feelings. If anything, I ridiculed them. "...Then again, you are only a child. I shouldn't have expected much more than a tantrum." I added fuel to the fire, not because I wanted to, but because I had to. The Rift told me so.  I’m sorry.  The regret hit me as soon as the biting words careened from my lips. I’d take it back. I didn’t know when or where or how, but somehow I would. The child’s face said it all. There was no need for further explanation, no need for words to tell me the impact of why words. The hurt was greater than I’d imagined, but that did not make it any less painful for me to endure - and I wasn’t the innocent colt, who’d simply been curious and eager to make friends with a stranger. I didn’t know why a question about his singular wing had made him break down. That was no matter, though, because it undoubtedly did. And if he felt one way or another about the things I said, who was I to say how he should react or how he should feel? Who was I to think I could validate his feelings, or anyone else’s, for that matter? If my words caused injury, in any way, shape or form, that injury was valid. What I’d said was no matter. My heart dropped in my chest, and I was sure the feeling was reflected in my expression, even if ever so slightly. I instantly felt awful and ridden with shame for what I’d done. Because I hurt him, and word of all, I meant to do it.  Something had overcome me. I didn’t know what it was. All I knew was that it was the Rift that had corrupted me somehow, that had put the idea into my brain to speak to the poor child in such a manner with the intention of harming him. I’d said it a million times over, and I’d say it a million times over again: what was wrong with me? I so badly wanted to apologize, yet I could not bring myself to do it. The words would simply not come out of me. I stood there before him, still as a statue in a state of shock at what I’d just done. For I could not believe it any more than the stranger could. My eyes were wide, reflecting a mixture of so many emotions, from surprise to guilt to utter horror. If I wasn’t the creature that I was, perhaps I would not have reacted to the situation in this way, because to most other horses it’d probably seem a little dramatic. Maybe it was. I didn’t care, though. My mind and heart screamed at me, because every ounce of my being knew that what I’d done was wrong. Sometimes I wished that I were different - that my tongue could be as abrasive as sand, like a wolf out to find that fatal artery in the throat and not feel an ounce of remorse. Who would I be then? The answer: a monster. Like my father was. What being with a heart could cause someone else even the smallest amount of hurt and then simply swat the impact away as one would a bothersome fly? I cared about how I made others feel. I had a heart; I was supposed to feel sorry. I did feel sorry.   There were times my brain fried up. I knew it was no excuse. I could not blame the Rift; I ultimately owned my behavior. In that moment I was the least proud of who I was, for I failed to be the valiant creature I strove to be. I knew the moment I saw the tears dribble down the colt’s face, staining the grey fur beneath his eyes with dark streaks, visible evidence of the way I’d made him feel. In a mixture of hurt and anger, the colt lunged forward, aiming to hit my shoulder with his head. It wouldn’t make much of an impact, but that wasn’t why I didn’t defend myself. I absorbed the impact of the blow with a small grimace - I deserved it.  "Talk." it does not steal the night — it only unveils the beauty of the dark

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@Vynter poor bb :c