A Starlit Ballet

Like something born from dreams and desire, the phantasmic creature (perhaps not even truly tangible), was lost for a second between the swirling, billowing veil of infinite, vaporous hair; no, t’was constellations, a galaxy, turning around an ethereal goddess - Valkyrie hesitated, paused, and standing in a stupor, watched as the magnificent woman materialised at last through her cosmic curtain, gliding forward to meet her. The smile which grew through the strange creature’s chromatic features stirred a vigorous chorus of goosebumps to prickle down the length of the young filly’s pale spine. Still smoother than that soft wind around them, words lifted through the darkness dividing them, and the Daughter smiled without reserve. For the first time since her plunge into the Rift, she almost felt comfortable - contented. “Hello,” the smaller returned with surprising ease, and with the same high revere which should have dressed a conversation with the High-Maiden of Sunnmøre. “...a little lost,” she added quickly, soothed by the queer, purplish glow in the gaze that beheld her. “I am Valkyrie, of the Shieldmaidens,” (should legend of the Sisterhood have leaked at all, into the veins of this underworld), “and I was hoping there might be a lake to bathe in here.” She’d not perceived any falseness about the advice that Roscorro had offered, but as she stood in the company of the enigmatic woman, there in the cut belly of a mountain, she began to wonder. “It was suggested I seek out the summit, yet all I could find was mud…” As though to prove the grimness of her plight, she gestured her pastel pink nose (without touching of course), to the caked sludge discolouring each foreleg. Surely one with such unrivalled splendour as this would understand the value of aesthetic image. Glancing back, Valkyrie offered a warm unfeigned smile.