Snowforest Taiga once was a postcard

stormwind galloped past, stirring the whiskers on sobeille’s cheeks. masquerade looked withdrawn; a familiar expression pinching the handsome red of her face.

sobeille decided she really liked that merlot etching; it was mesmerizing. she wished her face was not black — she would paint it in that forbidding color, and wear that brand for the world to see.

what was it like, walking through life with a war brand on one’s face?

she felt strangely sorry to see masquerade go. most times, she hardly tolerated company — so why did she want for company now?

goodbye, masquerade. i would like to see your face again. she sent the woman off, her voice taking dark tone as she finished.

she watched until masquerade’s silhouette faded from view. another burst of wind crawled across her back. taking her cue from the darkening skies, sobeille headed home.