Resting, But Not At Peace

   At times where he felt weary and achy, Cynred's mind would begin to wonder just how much time had passed since becoming a Madarkrista. His dreaded existence was a result of the juvenile behavior he did in his younger years, poking fun at the cursed dragon-pony hybrid while they were in pain. Though, he questioned himself, did they really have to give him such a harsh punishment? Then, he knew, if he were in their position, he would curse someone too.

    Even in their position however, he prays nobody would feel a pain as great as the constant physical ache. The sharp surges of pain that get worse with each wave, increasing with the numbers of his age. Although he is an ageless immortal, he still felt as if he had walked this earth for an eternity, breathing in all the pains of the world from rejection, to loss, to the madness of social deprivation. The ponies and dragons would not allow him to enter their territory, horrified at the effects of allowing an interspecies hybrid to roam with such a wretched curse rather than simply killing the spawn and bred couple who contributed to this crisis. The only time he felt acceptance was shortly lived, in a literal and figurative sense. As Cynred found two equine beings who, although not ponies, accepted him completely. Their casual interactions towards him and his presence made Cynred feel a sense of belonging. They introduced him new things he was unable to see due to being shunned, from new social cultures to advancements in technology. He was astounded when Earth ponies had found a way to sail across the seas without being pegasus or unicorn-dependant, plotting out a star chart with such accuracy that those of his time would call them witches (or unicorns in the pony's sense.) Only when they grew older and made remarks of his ageless appearance did he try to see his reflection in the water. Cynred could hardly believe what he was looking at was himself. His face resembled a pony no longer, and more of a canine

-rabbit-horse. Had his face always been this way? He wasn't sure, he always assumed from his hooves and fable of Madarikrista origin that he was a pony. He... was he never a pony...?

    Cynred felt dizzy the more he tried to remember, the pain in this eyes and ears pulsating as dark magenta bled from his eyes. The Madarikrista grunted and squeezed his lids tight, only resulting in more bloody tears dribbling down his eyes, and the ache of his geode-like ears pulsating as they weakly drooped downwards. He hated remembering when he could, he hated seeing something new, or different, then realizing how the decades stacked up into centuries. He hated feeling such a harsh wave of pain when he came back to reality instead of letting his mind deteriorate into a deeper madness, becoming indifferent to the ache of his crystals, and incorrect memories filling his head. For a while, he stopped thinking for himself. He only ever payed attention if his small amount of friends ever needed him to be real, which was never.

    They passed a few decades after that, Cynred hadn't noticed the time that passed by, not even with their aging appearance. Mortals just did that, and when they died, he could barely even cry, or feel angry, or... feel. Being alone was certainly something he hadn't felt in several decades. He tried to remind himself that they were only decades, and mortals withered away quickly in time. There was no benefit for him to get attached to something with the lifespan of a goldfish. His world blurred and faded into colors and sounds, solely wandering from one place to another. He never stayed in one spot nor seemed to be aware of his surroundings. "Just passing through," was all he'd mutter when someone came up to talk to him. He never looked up from the ground, in a half-alive daze which he wished he could have died so many centuries ago.

     Then, he finally felt. Cynred blinked as the bitter frost bit into his hooves and paws, stabbing deeply into him as he let out a pained screech, sound deafened by the howling wind. He looked up, seeing nothing but white blowing in the wind. The ice and snow was so thick that he couldn't even see his own hoof when he put it out.

      So this is how it would end up,' he thought. 'Lost, somehow on an ice glacier, not knowing where I am. This was how it would be. If I can not die, I will at least let myself be buried under the ice, frozen and never to be found.'

    Cynred curled up in the snow, and despite the white-hot pain, the never ending bleeding and aches, he stayed there, the ice storm gathering on his fur and around his body.

  Resting, but not at peace.