Lost ShipThe wooden vessel drifted upon the glassy stillness, suspended above and below twinkling stars. They brought no comfort, and served no guide. Only creaking timbers broke the silence.
Eyes stared unto the horizon, as if by force of will another could be seen. Months had passed without sign. Still she searched, each night digging its talons further into her bones.
The crew still served as in mourning, following her ever-more desperate orders. She had heard whispers, though nopony would have directed them to her face. Whispers of madness. Of a futile quest. Shushed as she entered the galley, their eyes avoiding contact.
She took her meals alone in their cabin, now. Where the whispers wouldn't reach her. Where she could see the candy locket and bloodshot eyes staring back from the mirror. Even they were filled with accusation, with reflection. She should not have sent them on a foolish errand, should have gone instead, should have overruled her protests, should have listened. And now there
For ScootalooWhere can you run, spun upon dashed hope:
In arms of friends in folly, seeking path by dwindle-light?
A rainbow mare discarded, still sisters not regarded,
keep self-heart closed and guarded, basket hid from shown.
All skies grey above untamed, wings too weak to roam.
Alas, a past entombed.
And no canon's guide.