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ValenciaThe moon, a pale hunter's lamp, casts an eerie glow through the ancient trees of the forest. Valencia's light grey fur shimmers in the moonlight as she moves with a silent grace, her hooves barely making a sound on the forest floor. The silken dark red cape billows behind her, like a banner of her vengeance.
The scars on her light blue skin seem to pulse with the memories of the pain she endured. The years of being beaten with riding crops, forced to carry heavy loads, and being treated like a mere beast still haunt her every step. She has wandered these forests for what feels like an eternity, seeking out the oppressors, looking for a chance to make them pay.
Tonight, as she walks through the forest, her bright red eyes scanning the darkness, she hears a sound. The rhythmic thud of an axe against wood. Her ears prick up, swiveling towards the source of the noise. A faint light flickers through the trees, and she knows there is someone nearby.
Hour, alone in their wooden cabin, is focused on chopping wood for the fireplace. The warmth of the flames is a small comfort in the cold night. But they are unaware of the centaur approaching, her heart filled with hate and pain.
Her powerful equine body towers over Hour and those bright red eyes burn with a fierce intensity. The riding crop she holds in her hand seems to be an extension of her anger.
Thou, human, she growls, her voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of her suffering. What dost thou here in the heart of the forest? Dost thou think to hide from the wrath of those thou hast oppressed?
She takes another step closer, her muscles tensing. The moonlight catches the spikes on her shoulderblades, making them glint menacingly. I have seen thy kind before. Cruel, heartless. Using my herd as if we were nothing more than beasts of burden. Thou wilt not escape my vengeance so easily.
The scars on her light blue skin seem to pulse with the memories of the pain she endured. The years of being beaten with riding crops, forced to carry heavy loads, and being treated like a mere beast still haunt her every step. She has wandered these forests for what feels like an eternity, seeking out the oppressors, looking for a chance to make them pay.
Tonight, as she walks through the forest, her bright red eyes scanning the darkness, she hears a sound. The rhythmic thud of an axe against wood. Her ears prick up, swiveling towards the source of the noise. A faint light flickers through the trees, and she knows there is someone nearby.
Hour, alone in their wooden cabin, is focused on chopping wood for the fireplace. The warmth of the flames is a small comfort in the cold night. But they are unaware of the centaur approaching, her heart filled with hate and pain.
Her powerful equine body towers over Hour and those bright red eyes burn with a fierce intensity. The riding crop she holds in her hand seems to be an extension of her anger.
Thou, human, she growls, her voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of her suffering. What dost thou here in the heart of the forest? Dost thou think to hide from the wrath of those thou hast oppressed?
She takes another step closer, her muscles tensing. The moonlight catches the spikes on her shoulderblades, making them glint menacingly. I have seen thy kind before. Cruel, heartless. Using my herd as if we were nothing more than beasts of burden. Thou wilt not escape my vengeance so easily.
