The Lost Islands
CLICK FOR IMAGE CREDITS


Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on November 30, 2015 at 09:10:50 PM by Macabre




"If Love himself weep, shall not lovers weep,
learning from what sad cause he pours his tears?
Love hears his ladies crying their distress,
showing forth bitter sorrow through their eyes
because villainous Death has worked its cruel
destructive art upon a gentle heart,
and laid waste all that earth can find to praise
in a gracious lady, save her chastity."


The mare looks surprisingly better than she's had in some time. The brief stint of solitude here has left her with too much time -- lots of blank space to allow her mind to worry, but also plenty of time to graze lazily. Her hips no longer protrude from her sides, nor is her fur sunken in along her spine. The mare's coat is thick from past seasons spent on Tinuvel, but it's robust and healthy. To the average onlooker, Macabre looked fine. She looked OK. She seemed normal. Despite her escalating fear and anxiety, the long span of quiet days and seemingly endless nights on Atlantis had dulled the pain of the unknown and her general panic. She was tired of it all, almost delirious from it.

Despite the long series of unfortunate events in her past, Macabre never saw herself as a victim. It was a matter of circumstance. After the Great Flood and the loss of her tribe and parents, her path had been altered permanently. She was meant to carry the burden of those lost, allowing her kind to live on as memories within the confines her her skull. Her son, Shiraz, was included in that, too. That burden, she now believed, was her curse. It kept her from creating any kind of real emotional connections with those that passed through her life. She used Dogun and even Midas. She allowed others, like Dexter and now Vaaco, to abuse her. The cycle was endless and she had no power over it. That is, until the Reaper finally caught up with her. Until he decided this torture was over and she could join those whom she loved the most.

So when the clearly very young palomino stallion approaches, she's not surprised by his upbeat nature. She stands still, frozen in time as she realizes this young man was about the same age her Shiraz would have been, if he'd lived, and watched him from behind nervous eyes. She doesn't need to ask him where Vaaco is, or the appaloosa who came after him, Strack. He clearly doesn't know and doesn't care, as he's moved in here. This makes the small mare study him more carefully, since his demeanor will dictate what her life will be like from now until who knows when.

Finally? She questions, but knows better and bites her tongue. "Hello. I'm Macabre." She speaks clearly and politely. "You must be the new man in charge," she says bluntly, but not in an unfriendly way. It's been too long since she's spoken to anyone but the birds in the trees. The mare is surprisingly uplifted by the thought of conversation. Though apprehensive, given she had no idea what this stranger's intentions were.

Her thin tail flicks idly over her haunches and she studies him from behind her dark, marbled eyes. He is so young. Too young, in her opinion, to be staking out a life on his own. There was much to learn about this cruel world and the villains within it. He was too bright, too innocent, for the job he had just taken on. From now on, she was his responsibility, and any other he'd likely already invited here. Did he realize that? Did he understand the magnitude or what that meant?

Beyond that, the young stallion was handsome enough. He was friendly. His mind was impressionable, which gave her some hope. Macabre assumes he could be successful here, with the proper guidance. Thus far he seems to pose no threat to her, but she knows that's fleeting and unverified. "The stallion who came before you brought me here months ago. I haven't seen him since. Just one other stallion, who left me here as well." She sees no use in sugarcoating her situation, but fails to mention her sisters back at the Peak. Sometimes stallions didn't take to Peak mares kindly, and given her long absence from the Amazon tribe, she worried about her status within the herd anyway. Macabre didn't really have anywhere else to go.




"Hear then how Love paid homeage to this lady;
I saw him weeping there in human form,
observing the stilled image of her grace;
and more than once he raised his eyes toward Heaven,
where that sweet soul already had its home,
which once, on earth, had worn enchanting flesh."

Macabre | 6 | Mare | Mustang X Morgan | 14.2 HH | flaxen chestnut | © Vinyl




Replies:

Post a reply:
Name:
Email:
Subject:
Message:
Link Name:
Link URL:
Image URL:
Password To Edit Post:






<-- -->