[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/ssxt53R/Thalia-Evercrest.png[/img][/center][hr][right][sub]Location: Community Barn
Interactions: N/A
Mentions: Nyla, Flynn([@The Muse])[/sub][/right][hr]
[indent] The snow outside had been crushed underfoot into a messy mix of half-melted footprints and icy slush, but the path ahead remained visible enough to follow. Lark moved silently beside her, his ears pricked forward as he scanned the street with the same wary focus she felt tightening in her chest. Was he sensing her unease, or was he just as restless as she was? Thalia couldn’t always tell with him. 

She tucked her hands deeper into the sleeves of her coat, seeking warmth as much as a way to steady herself. The lingering tension from her earlier encounter with Nyla still pressed against her temples, the memory of that sickly-sweet smile and the hunger in the woman’s eyes. Not hunger for food, per se, but for something far more desperate. Recognition. Belonging. A desperate grasp for importance in a world that had long since moved on without her. Without them both. 

So, Thalia understood that kind of hunger, though from a different angle. She had once clawed for her own place, too, just on a different rung of the same rotting ladder. 

Still, she shook off the thought. Dwelling on Nyla’s insecurities was a luxury she couldn’t afford right now. Dissecting other people’s flaws was a pastime for bored nobles with nothing better to do than sip wine and whisper behind their hands, neither of which Thalia had the time or patience for today. She reached the edge of the barnyard and slowed, dusting stray snowflakes from her shoulders before stepping toward the side gate. Her words, when she spoke, were low and meant only for the herding dog beside her.

“[color=#663399]Don’t worry, Lark,[/color]” Thalia murmured, her voice dry with amusement. “[color=#663399]You’re still the most interesting creature I’ve met in this place. At least you don’t pretend to be something you’re not.[/color]”

Lark exhaled through his nose in a quiet huff, and she decided generously to interpret it as agreement.

With the unhurried dignity of an animal who had never once worried about manners, Lark took his time circling the area before finally selecting a patch of snow-dusted straw near the fencepost as the perfect spot to relieve himself. Thalia tilted her head back, staring pointedly at the sky as if the clouds might spare her the indignity of witnessing such a royal performance.

“[color=#663399][i]Very[/i] majestic,[/color]” she muttered under her breath. “[color=#663399]Should I start introducing you with a list of titles next time?[/color]”

Of course, there were no servants here to tidy up after a dog’s business, nor were there delicate handkerchiefs or discreet groundskeepers with shovels at the ready. Just frozen earth, a biting wind, and the occasional merciful snowfall to cover up nature’s less dignified moments.

Still, she reached for a clump of hay from a nearby bale and tossed it over the offending spot like a hasty burial for an embarrassing secret. Hidden, but not forgotten. It was the best she could do. Let the spring thaw deal with the rest, whenever the sun decides to show itself again.

With Lark now trotting dutifully beside her once more, Thalia turned her attention toward the far side of the paddock, where the barn stood. It was sturdy enough to keep out the cold, but far from anything worth admiring. A thin wisp of smoke curled from its chimney, faint yet enough to tell her that someone had at least bothered to light the morning fire. The snow muffled the sound of her boots until she stepped onto the covered porch, where a bristled mat gave way to uneven boards. She didn’t knock—this was no formal hall—and instead pushed the door open with the edge of her shoulder.

The barn’s warmth wrapped around her as soon as she stepped inside, heavy with the smells of dry straw, animal fur, and lantern oil. Mariselle was the first to lift her head, her dark ears pricking as if in disapproval at the delay. The mare’s gaze was imperious, as ever, with that proud tilt to her head that made Thalia smirk despite herself. 

[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/MZDdmjWb/Mariselle.jpg[/img][/center]

Mariselle had once been the finest horse in House Evercrest's stables, born from generations of powerful warhorses though she'd never seen combat. “Too delicate for battle,” Thalia's mother had declared with a dismissive wave. “Too stubborn to be useful,” her father had grumbled. But Thalia had loved her immediately - not for her prestigious lineage or flawless movements, but for her challenging nature. The mare carried herself with unshakable pride, refusing to tolerate fools or accept riders she didn't respect. She'd pinned her ears at stablehands and kicked at anyone who approached without permission. It had taken Thalia countless hours of patient coaxing just to be allowed in the stall, let alone to place a saddle on that proud back.

She remembered how the mare would test her constantly with sudden head tosses, sidesteps, and the occasional warning nip. But there had been something exhilarating about earning that trust, piece by hard-won piece. Each small victory, like the first time Mariselle came when called or the first ride without resistance, had felt more meaningful than any praise from her parents.

When everything fell apart, leaving Mariselle behind had been unthinkable. Thalia could still feel the cold dread that had gripped her when she realized they might be separated. Like Lark, the mare had been non-negotiable and one of the few living connections to the life she'd lost that was worth keeping. The memory of racing across open fields at sunrise, completely alone except for the sound of hooves beneath her. The secret conversations where she'd promised Mariselle they'd escape the suffocating expectations of court life together. 

How could she possibly part with any of it? 

“[color=#663399]Yes, yes, I’m late,[/color]” Thalia said aloud, tugging her gloves off finger by finger. “[color=#663399]I was fending off pastries and some serious passive aggression, so you’ll have to forgive me.[/color]”

She stepped into the stall, careful not to slip on the damp hay, and ran a gloved hand down Mariselle’s flank. The mare gave a pointed toss of her head—either greeting or judgement, possibly both—before nudging Thalia’s shoulder hard enough to stagger her half a step.

“[color=#663399]Still extra, I see,[/color]” Thalia muttered, catching her balance. “[color=#663399]Guess we have that in common.[/color]” She grabbed a brush from the rail and started working it through Mariselle’s coat, the strokes falling into an easy rhythm. There was something comforting in the repetition, in the way dirt and loose straw gave way to smooth, shining fur. Her hands moved on their own, letting her thoughts wander.

“[color=#663399]Remember that festival?[/color]” she asked, even though she knew the horse wouldn’t answer. “[color=#663399]You nearly took out that lute player with your hooves. Or was it just that baron you were aiming for?[/color]”

Mariselle snorted.

“[color=#663399]You’re right,[/color]” Thalia admitted. “[color=#663399]He [i]definitely[/i] had it coming.[/color]”

When she finished brushing, she rested her forehead against the mare’s shoulder for a moment, breathing in the scent of hay and horse and something faintly nostalgic. This barn, with its rough walls, was the closest thing to peace she’d found since coming to Dawnhaven.

The words slipped out before Thalia could stop them, barely more than a breath against Mariselle's neck. “[color=#663399]I don't know why we're still here.[/color]” She half-hoped the mare wouldn't notice, that the confession might disappear into the warm darkness of the stable.

As if having read her mind, Mariselle shifted her weight, pressing closer rather than pulling away. Her breathing warmed Thalia's sleeve, patient and unchanging.

“[color=#663399]I tell myself it’s for the land. For the fresh start. For my father.[/color]” She let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “[color=#663399]But it’s not the full truth, is it?[/color]” Her fingers moved absently through the mare's coat, tracing small, restless circles. “[color=#663399]I didn’t come here for him. The prince.[/color]” The name stuck in her throat before she forced it out. 

“[color=#663399]Flynn.[/color]”

The name sat oddly in her mouth. 

“[color=#663399]I didn't come chasing some storybook ending,[/color]” Thalia continued, pressing her forehead briefly against Mariselle's shoulder. “[color=#663399]I'm not that naïve.[/color]”

The mare stood motionless, offering neither approval or disapproval. That was the comfort of animals—they kept your secrets without question. They didn't twist your words or use them against you later.

“[color=#663399]But maybe….[/color]” Thalia's gaze drifted past Mariselle, unfocused. “[color=#663399]....some stupid, hopeful part of me thought... if we could just talk without all the politics, without everyone watching... maybe it wouldn't feel so unfinished.[/color]”

Her jaw tensed, and she pulled back just enough to look into the mare’s eyes.

“[color=#663399]He’s married. Of course he is. To someone appropriate, I’m sure. With perfect lineage and the right connections. Not some dispossessed daughter of a disgraced house who barely remembers how to boil an egg.[/color]”

The bitterness in her voice caught even her off guard. She swallowed hard, forcing a lighter tone as she picked up the brush again, scrubbing at it with unnecessary vigor.

“[color=#663399]I shouldn’t care. I don’t, really.[/color]”

Silence settled between them for a long moment.

“[color=#663399]That woman just….[/color]” Thalia waved a hand vaguely. “[color=#663399]She got to me a bit, that's all.[/color]”

She rested the brush aside and stepped back into the stall, leaning into Mariselle’s warm flank again. 

“[color=#663399]I'm not asking for anything grand,[/color]” she murmured. “[color=#663399]Not some dramatic reunion, not secret meetings, not... whatever foolish dreams I might have had once. I just….[/color]”

Her fingers curled slightly in the mare's fur, clinging without meaning to.

“[color=#663399]I just want to know that I’m not suddenly…invisible.[/color]” 

Thalia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding after that confession, one that sounded too much like a sigh and not enough like relief. Her eyes burned, but nothing fell. She wouldn’t give the day that satisfaction. Instead, she ran her palm along the mare's neck, fingers tracing muscles beneath the smooth coat. 

“[color=#663399]You've never changed,[/color]” she murmured. “[color=#663399]Still as proud as ever. Still impossible to please. Still here when it matters.[/color]” Her voice caught slightly. “[color=#663399]I don't know what I'd do without that.[/color]”

The horse released a slow breath, the warm air forming a brief cloud in the cold stable before dissipating. It ruffled Thalia's hair with ghostly fingers, a fleeting touch that somehow felt like understanding.

Thalia lingered another heartbeat, letting that silence wrap around her like a balm. Then, gently, she straightened and brushed stray bits of straw from her sleeves with the kind of care one used to dust off old dignity.

“[color=#663399]Alright,[/color]” she said, voice firmer now. The words were more for herself than the horse. “[color=#663399]Enough wallowing. The world won't stop just because I'm feeling sorry for myself.[/color]”

Mariselle snorted softly, as if in agreement, or perhaps amusement at Thalia's abrupt shift. Either way, it drew a faint smile. The mare had always been good at calling her bluffs.

“[color=#663399]Time to get to work.[/color]” 
[/indent]