Post by Enza on Feb 16, 2008 21:29:04 GMT -5
[ p i c t u r e c o m i n g ]
her dam pronounced her Azalea [Ah-Zah-Lee-Ah]
her Arabian lines descend from her ancestors
she has seen the leaves turn colour three times
her pelt was once the palest of greys, though age has flecked it with darker areas
her withers stand 15 hands above the earth's surface
her legs and bodice slender though slightly malproportioned, her mane and tail bil-
lowing awkwardly in the wind as though they aren't sure where to go, her paces not
clumsy though not considered elegant, she isn't simply ordinary, she's beautiful,
in her own way.
she's terrified of stallions. she loves them from afar, but never lets them become
close enough to touch her. she doesn't trust anyone very easily. once you've gotten
to the other side of protective wall she'd put around herself in her foalhood, you'll
see that she's quite playful, and has a sense of humour. break her heart, and she'll
break yours.you can mark her words on that. unpure personality, though not
leaden with malevolence.
she was tired of it. tired of everything. tired of hearing her fellow mares screaming.
tired of having to sleep with one eye open. tired of having to constantly watch her
back.tired of having to put up with stallions that simply wanted to hear a fae scream,
that wanted nothing to do with the foal that they would create by force. tired of her
life. and no, she wasn't going to take her own existance. she was simply going to
create herself a new one. she left clues, yes. clues that led right to the stag she hated
most in theherd, the one who'd hurt the most femmes. the clues were fake, of course.
she hadn'tbeen stolen. she'd run away. beaten but not broken. she simply up & left.
her dam pronounced her Azalea [Ah-Zah-Lee-Ah]
her Arabian lines descend from her ancestors
she has seen the leaves turn colour three times
her pelt was once the palest of greys, though age has flecked it with darker areas
her withers stand 15 hands above the earth's surface
her legs and bodice slender though slightly malproportioned, her mane and tail bil-
lowing awkwardly in the wind as though they aren't sure where to go, her paces not
clumsy though not considered elegant, she isn't simply ordinary, she's beautiful,
in her own way.
she's terrified of stallions. she loves them from afar, but never lets them become
close enough to touch her. she doesn't trust anyone very easily. once you've gotten
to the other side of protective wall she'd put around herself in her foalhood, you'll
see that she's quite playful, and has a sense of humour. break her heart, and she'll
break yours.you can mark her words on that. unpure personality, though not
leaden with malevolence.
she was tired of it. tired of everything. tired of hearing her fellow mares screaming.
tired of having to sleep with one eye open. tired of having to constantly watch her
back.tired of having to put up with stallions that simply wanted to hear a fae scream,
that wanted nothing to do with the foal that they would create by force. tired of her
life. and no, she wasn't going to take her own existance. she was simply going to
create herself a new one. she left clues, yes. clues that led right to the stag she hated
most in theherd, the one who'd hurt the most femmes. the clues were fake, of course.
she hadn'tbeen stolen. she'd run away. beaten but not broken. she simply up & left.