[alphanea]

base: custom
tail: temptest
ears: horse 2

MYO comission for canada.
lore for the waive will be provided,

[canada]

[ 557 words ]

she never wanted to be immortal.

memories blended together as the years flew by in a blur. the mare she once knew was washed away as she guided more and more souls to and from the unknown.

psūkhē was known as the bringer of souls.

she remembered, vaguely, the day that hermes had approched her. she was a young mare then, white, blameless. exactly the type of soul needed for the job. she didn't fight when she was taken from her family, taken from the mortal world. she didn't argue when she was brought to the limnoúla tis aioniótitas (pond of eternity) and told that it was now her sole meaning in life. life - an ephiphany, then... life was no longer short, no longer a period of time. death - no longer a fear for her, no longer obtainable...

life became infinity, and infinity became immortal.

an immortal like her could only walk between the worlds, never fully apart of one. psūkhē knew the risks and the reality of what was coming for her, yet she did not push back. she remembered internally screaming, begging for another way. a plea deep within her soul that would never touch any fable's ears felt like daggers through her heart as her entire life - no, mortalness - was ripped from her. stolen in a heartbeat, as the gods believed her purpose was greater.

psūkhē's birth-given name was a whisper too quiet to hear, a wind too thin to be felt.

her mother's voice felt like a hazy, foggy memory... her father's face a ripple within the pond, fading, fading... until it was no more. as the years went by, memories went with them. stolen kisses in the moonlight dwindled to distant echos of a life once filled with splendor, love, light... death, fear, pain. she missed the nip of pain as her ankles snagged on thornbushes, the rush of wind snapping at her face as she raced through the trees. the bone-deep cold of rain against her pelt, the warmth of the sun upon her back.

although immortalness was never a want, she grew to accept it.

the way fable's eyes lit up with love and joy as they re-met with a loved one who had passed filled psūkhē with a sense of purpose. when she met those who looked for her within the fields of elysion, her heart would leap. as she asked them who they seeked, she felt proud to lead them to the limnoúla tis aioniótitas. the moment that passed-on fables would emerge from the water felt like weights being lifted off of her chest because it reminded her of the delight and exuberance of being alive.



many say that they feel the bringer of souls before they see her. a calm, a beauty so capitivating. she brings an air of peace with every step she takes; an intense pull overcomes the seeker as she sucks them in to herself. the need to follow, follow, follow will stir within the fable, and they will find themselves following the force blindly. for those who are scared, or don't necessarily believe, she will allow a blink to transport them to the limnoúla tis aioniótitas. a blindingly gold mane filled with silver specks will haunt their dreams until they seek her again.

and, they will. they always do.

[bezel]

this is #M-38!