She is haunted; each step dogged by the razor teeth of memories. She looks the picture of health in motion, light colored fur hiding the way her ribs are more prominent and glassy eyes masking the sorrow. Yet when she stops, the pieces fall...
Dreams and memories crowd inside her head. She has never recovered from the fatigue, from the loss that had dried the flood plains of her heart. Swans and lions and some night there are still tears that leak out from between pinched lashes. There is just emptiness anymore. A hole in the center of her being that throbs with wrongness. And yet she has nothing to fill it with.
The garden's weeds have been culled. An entire section of withering accents have been torn to shreds and then covered over with dirt, barren. It lasts until the taunting makes her vomit. She replants until the lie of contentment can be bought. And then she sleeps for too many days and no nights. There's too much sickness in the pit of her stomach and just more reminders that she cannot swallow.
For once, her sanctuary is pain. She leaves it in the care of her boar and doesn't know when she'll return. Part of her, quiet, muses about cliff edges...
It is a cycle. Depression bleeds into anger, rage drips into revulsion, self-hatred coalesces and it all begins again. She hates it; she hates herself. Weak and stupid. The words repeat; the same cadence of her mother's voice. Don't be foolish, girl. Power outweighs love. And she'd fought that and lost the only love she'd ever known.
Atone frowns as she awakens to bleating cries. The lullaby is still humming against her lips as her eyes open to the pink bled orange sky of sunrise. She rises, slow, ears twitching as she tries to shake herself into waking. A moment of stillness, all dreams she supposes and then cries pierce the haze.
It doesn't take long to track down the one in need. A newborn foal, still sticky with the membrane of his sac, is wailing and there's no one nearby. She takes in this little orphan and begins to nuzzle him. With gentleness, she cleans him and soothes him. And when he slumbers, warm against her chest, she begins to think.
She's always wanted to be a mother but it was never to be. She can nurture and grow. She can teach. And yet she is a villain. A monster. She wars between want and need and good and kind. She cries and hopes. And the longer she sits there, the more her mind turns to Snow.
They have never spoken since their meeting though they have seen one another in passing. Atone is always alone. Snow... She has had children. It somehow hurts more to see this than she could have ever imagined and she is never quite sure why. But the more she thinks, the more she believes she cannot do this alone. No matter the good intention, no matter the capability. She needs help and not just anyone's. She needs Snow's help. For his sake.
