Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.
The conflict that she has started (her fault, this is all her fault) swirls and eddies around the amber tobiano, taking hold of her emotions and carrying them with it. Tossing her about like waves in a storm-wracked sea, until it is all that Chelle can do to hold her head above the surface. Motionless, hunched— staring down at the ground in shame she listens to two kind, undeserving men grapple with one another for the sake of her favor. And she vows that this will be the first time and the last that she allows the possibility of freedom to intoxicate her. It’s clear to the young mare now that even the most innocuous of words and actions can have disastrous and far-reaching consequences. Desire, as it turns out, is a powerful weapon— one that should not be played with lightly.
Too late, far too late, Judas’s granddaughter wonders whether she should have simply abided by the dark stallion’s command.
Resurfacing from the spinning waters of her thoughts, the freckled girl flinches at the harsh cadence of Solomon’s voice, though his touch provides a gentle contradiction. Let me know when you’re tired of his fairytale bullshit, Chelle. She feels as small as the filly that she’d been only seasons ago when these words find her, far smaller than the two males who stand beside her. Hadn’t her grandsire told her something all too similar before she left? That she was chasing dreams, that the life she sought didn’t exist. That true happiness was fleeting, and she should seek contentment instead. I’ll be there, the tall stallion continued, the press of his muzzle turning her gaze northward. Beyond the Peak, waiting. And in that moment, she might have gone with him as jubilantly as she’d imagined herself fleeing with Cain. Because she feels it— the strange, indescribable pull that Solomon possesses, so different than the comfort and reassurance of the Desert’s ruler.
But in the end, she holds her ground when Tinuvel’s King finally turns away, yielding to the wisdom that she’d denied in her younger age. Her heart might not flutter at the black-and-white male’s touch as it had with his rival, but Cain is the better option, the one Judas would have advised her to choose. Or so Chelle hopes as she attempts to shake out the tangled threads of her emotions, frowning after the silhouette that by now has retreated into the waves. Because it’s far, far too late to change her mind.
An awkward silence descends in the seconds that follow, during which shame and guilt continue to writhe in the pit of her stomach. “I—” the reddish-gold woman begins, not certain what she might be able to say or do that would make any of this right again. But she has to try. “Cain,” she continues, lips trembling as the form the syllable of his name. “I owe you much for your kindness— but above all, I owe you an apology.” Her bravery is still in tatters, but she gathers the pieces and continues, her voice swelling from a soft murmur to a stronger hum. “Whether you believe that I am worth it or not, you shouldn’t have felt like you needed to fight for me. And I— I never meant for things to go that far.”
Her green eyes are pleading when they seek his, earnest. More than anything, she wants to put the events that have led them here behind her— to move on from them. “If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, then I would love to see your home.” Chelle says after a brief pause, her gentle courtesy an olive branch for all the turmoil that she has caused. But it isn’t enough, and moment of contemplation she makes a second offer.
“If you like, I can even tell you… tell you about myself. It only seems fair, after everything that you have shared with me.”
OOC: We can continue in the desert, if you'd like!