The Hero's Journey

"It is said that Jagmeet was the originator of all life in the quirliverse," Clastic mused as the serenity of the back stage's darkness was raised by a veil of dim lim projecting from beyond the curtain. "Every green thing, every cluster of fur, feather and scale."

"What has Anevay brought to this world?" She dared not answer, fearing that her conscience would condemn her for blasphemy.  She had lived in this desolate, ambitious land for decades now. "Decades. Eh," she huffed. Nearing a century. An ugly, bold round number. "What have I brought to this world?!"

The stage hands, moving like shadows amongst the faux foliage and boulders, paid no mind to her soliloquy. This was a theater, home of the noble arts. All of them had Shakespear buried withiin them. She could see the shine in their eyes. She had heard several of them whisper her parts with more passion than she could fake as she practiced in between cities. 

They wouldn't miss her.

Any of them would be better suited for the role. They deserved it. She was tired.

Tired of putting on a mask and reciting lines. Tired of pretending like she enjoyed the attention and the fame. Tired of ignoring the fact that it was her looks that had made her climb the ladder to success faster than any hardworking quirlicorn ever could.

She would return where it all started. To the plains region, Jagmeet's blessed land.

She would leave this hell hole behind and all of the burns, metaphorical and literal, she had endured all these years, too many years.

She slipped back into the darkness. Followed the trail of lights along the hallway to her lodge. Threw the silk dress and jewels on a chair. Kicked off the protective shoes. 

She didn't spare them the courtesy of a note. She was all for nurturing creativity. They were free to think that she had eloped or that she had been kidnapped. She didn't care. She didn't care that this would make her more difficult to find. Savouring in advance this petty act of revenge, a revenge not aimed at anyone in particular nor at the industry, she grabbed a black cloak and wrapped it around her cold, mineral body.

Her most recognizable feature so simply disguised, Clastic was free to walk unnoticed to the exit of the theater.

She opened the door, stretching out her neck to soak in the warmth. She knew that soon, she would curse that same heat. She hesitated.

The conditioned air drifted by her flanks and escaped into the yellowed oasis. Stepping stones lined the path to the village. This would be that first time walking on a hard surface without her shoes in the later half of her life. 

She tentatively touched the rock with her hoove. Nothing. She took a step, mimicking her normal walking form. The hoof scratched over the surface, but still, everything seemed safe.

The sound of all of her four hooves finding their way on the path was muted by the booming voice of the narrator announcing the beginning of the show. 

Clastic closed the door behind her. 

She was on her way.