Tick...Tock...Tick...Tock

Reality meant nothing to the ivory fae, she wished neither to abide by such a thing or follow it. Not a single Seracian knew where she had ventured off too and why would they? She was a phantom, a creature of ill importance, she mattered none, easily replaceable, they would learn that in time. The past few weeks she had spent in utter solitude and whether that was for better or for worse had yet to be determined. Even Segar had left her alone, despite the unborn whelps she carried heavy in her womb.

Her mind had forever been a fragile thing, she was sane... for the most part but she lacked the ability to handle much of anything real. She was weak in such a sense and her mind did as it always would when something wounded it. The spider web cracks that made up her broken mind drove deeper, branching out just a touch more. Voices that were not there sang to her in the dead of night. gentle hums and whispers, phantoms of days long past came back to her, cooing, pleading, begging, until she could do little but keep walking and twitch. She was a broken down, run away mess. The humane thing to do? Put her down. Would it happen more than likely no.

" The rabbit nor the flowers speak in rhyme. The voices within my own mind are what chip away at me, whispers, taunts, begging's and temptations. Sometimes heavenly, sometimes demonically, I am sorry you suffer such similarities, it is not a curse I wish upon anyone. She answered as sympathetically as she was able. The life inside her she did not love, perhaps she had a scarce few weeks ago but her mind had long since buried the emotion. She just wanted them gone now, in one way or another, they were heavy, hard on her lithe body.

She closed her eyes tightly, wincing against the sudden onslaught of screams in her head at the mere words Seracia. A thousand voices, a thousand ideals. She could focus on nothing, could think of nothing, her eyes crossed and her legs trembled beneath her. " A slave no. Am I damned for growing swollen with pups from a man I once loved yes." She winced then, they demanded more, they demanded her speak more, tell more, and she groaned softly, willing them to shut up.

"Their so called king has scarred my once beloved, for doing little more than trying to fix my broken self. His left ear, ripped in decaying tatters, a wound I know all too well is there because of me. My mind is weak. The wound makes me remember, my mind buries the emotion. I carry pups I no longer care for, to a mate that I can feel nothing for. Seracia's king knows nothing of his members. Wicked, vile, cruel." She would say no more, the voices were satisfied and she wished no longer to linger upon the pack, she had come here to clear her head, not remember.