every single time she closes her eyes
and the stone world of water and cold
that has frozen the blood that marks her hooves
cracked under gold shoes
from attempts to chip away at her prison
trying her best
to put force into where her arcane strengh
has failed

her dirty mane falls like curtains to blur
black spots that dance at the edge of her vision

and sometimes

somtimes she can sit for hours
swaying in an unknown wind
as gravity pushes the weary wisp of a mare
with spots dancing before her eyes

and she stares at nothing
but recalls, in her haze,
and the fog of memory
some brilliance called stars
and for them she lingers on

Next Chapter: Blink and Wake Up Estimated time remaining: 1 Minutes