Post by .r e e d. on Jun 3, 2012 0:10:28 GMT -5
[atrb=border,1,true][atrb=width,394,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] |
[bg=#000000]
|
Red eyes fleet across the charred remains of her surrounds, and she briefly wonders if this is how she was meant to turn out. Was she meant to grow into a waste?
And she gave a taut shake of the head, nostrils in taking the bitter air. She wasn't the one to tell, she supposed. Time, she should say, would be the one to unravel her thoughts and queries, although she was almost sure of the answers already.
Once in a while, while her babe is nursing at her side with wide, hopeful eyes, the mare wonders when realization is going to give the small filly a blunt blow to the head, if ever. But she slightly opposes the idea because, well, she would rather keep her daughter away from the horrid world that she had been so lucky to experience herself. Lucky, she thinks, as a bitter taste rolls around in the back of her throat and crawls steadily up to rest on her tongue, needle-like talons piercing her skin. She believes she's the opposite of lucky, unlike her daughter.
"You're so lucky, babygirl." The mare winces slightly as the narcissism edges into her rasped tone, but her eyes are deadlocked on the young mare before her with a sincere light. 'You have told me many times before, Mother.' The filly protests, not quite sure of what her mother means. How is she lucky? She is of normal standards, nothing too pretty, nothing too out of the ordinary other than her bloodline. She thought of herself as unlucky, even. Far from lucky.
"Never forget that, okay?" She holds her steady gaze with her daughter before nudging her cheek with affection that she could only partake in with her own blood. 'I know, Mother.' Her tone is slightly annoyed within the automatic statement, and the older mare merely takes it as the age of the filly creeping in. She's young.
It wasn't long ago that Firefly herself could remember that snap of a tone within her own, sometime before the scars appeared on her chest and her eyes weren't as dull. In her prime, she would refer, when she wasn't crazy.
Crazy. Mad, insane, crazy. The voices within her head were relentless with these words, bouncing off the walls of her mind with an endless white noise of chants and various cruel statements. In the beginning, they would frighten her into a silent state for a few days. A slip of the tongue meant others might find out. They would alienate her, deem her unfit to raise her child. Blasphemy, the voices said. She was more than fit to raise her daughter. She was perfect.
[/color][/size]
MUSE IC ! Phantogram
MUSE ! SO I have a new style?
Comments?
I'm not sure about it.
SPEECH ! e5d19b
CHARACTERS ! firefly
OTHER ! I've found an obsession with the song
Smoke and Mirrors by Phantogram
[/blockquote][/blockquote][/font][/color] [/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
