T
he girl is asking about the Shore, of that Marceline is vaguely aware, but she catches only snippets of what she is saying between the deafening thrum of blood in her ears. Marceline forces herself to take a deep, steadying breath, willing her racing heart to calm as it flutters frantically against her ribcage. So strong is the beating of her heart that she thinks the filly must be able to feel it where she is pressed against Marceline's chest.
"Are you looking for… for Asmodeus?" She finally forces the question out of her tightening throat. She wants to believe, desperately, that it is someone else the girl is searching for, but it would be futile to put her hopes into such a silly idea.
Yet how is she to tell the girl that her father is gone? That Nyimara was right - he had left. He'd left his children, his home, the dreams he had tried to so carefully cultivate? A younger Marceline would have been able to effortlessly break the girl's heart and not feel a drop of remorse. But the years had worn away at her armor and smoothed the harsh edges of her and now, as she peered down into the girl's sorrowful face, she could not bring herself to rip that burr off so harshly. A gentle coaxing, she thinks, would be far better.
Steeling herself, Marceline says,
"You know, I lived with Asmodeus in the Shore for quite some time. He was a good stallion, and very fond of his children. But… a few seasons ago, he became hard to find. Until I couldn't find him anymore." She pauses, letting the words sink in, hoping that the softly broken news of her father's absence would not send her straight into a conniption.
"But I still have some of him with me - in our children. These two," she motions with her muzzle towards Imshael and Oberon standing at her sides,
"are your brothers."
former queen of the shore
Marceline