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She was perfect.

Everything from her tall, perfect ears, right down to her black-banded hooves. She was, simply put, the product of good breeding. In fact, most would call it a fit of pure genius, the pairing her mother and father made. They balanced each other perfectly in both color and marking scheme, and everyone knew that their fawns would be beautiful.

But she had always been the most important.
For in her herd, to bear a fawn with wings was not only dangerous, but highly regarded.

She brought her mother praise for having endured the pregnancy and birth. She was soon a highly ranked hind, with many ritualistic paints all along her shoulders, rump and legs. Her face had the mark that all wing-bearing mother's did (a sort of heart that, instead of connecting in the center, curved out at the pinnacle of each side, around the horns, and then down over the eyes), and she was adored by both hart and hind alike, the elders taking great care not to trip over their words around her. She brought her father wealth, and many eager hinds, not that her mother minded. Why would she mind? She, she alone had given birth to the darling little Etang, no one else. She had no reason to worry about whether or not her father was faithful, because she would never be required to to give birth again. It was considered even more dangerous than to carry a winged fetus in the first place, for the womb was stretched and could tear easily, causing the death of both mother and child.

But her father payed her little mind, save for in the company of others. She was an object, something to be gained from. Her mother smothered her, and the herd constantly regarded her as a sort of goddess figure.

Oh, but she was perfect, perfect in every way.
Almost.

"...ang? Etang, are you listening to me?" Suddenly, she came from her stupor-like state, and looked to her left, noticing that a rather plain looking forest Herla had tried to take up conversation with her. It was a rare thing, either from the fear she tried to desperately to inspire, or simply from the awe of her beauty. For so many years, she had come off as hard and callous, hiding her one flaw. The one thing that made her dangerous, deadly, and all the more captivating.

The voices.

('Poor little Etang. Didn't we teach you manners? Engage her, you stupid child!') It was so hard to bite back the harsh words she might have said, had she been alone. But she was not alone. No, she was in Whitemoon Glenn, watching the Herla gather and dance under the new moon, basking in the promise of another cycle to begin. And yet she wanted to lash out and scream, scream her frustration, her fury, her fear to the world, and beg someone to take them away, and make them stop. She had hidden them all her life; they had kept her captive all her life, wasn't that enough? "I'm sorry, deary. I didn't see you there, so well hid by the bushes." She let her lips curl into a cruel, calculating smile, despite the desperate plea that seemed to radiate from her very being. The Herla seemed to become cross and pained at the same time, and in a simple motion, she turned and stalked away. Etang let out a sight, her wings shifting uneasily against her back. She didn't want to be here, not really. She wanted to be out there, somewhere else, just anywhere but here. She wanted to see things, see everywhere; her wings had always allowed her that, as far as her herd was involved.

('Oh, look at her; dreaming and daydreaming and dreaming again. You'll not be going anywhere, darling, we can assure you that. You'll be staying right here, comfy and cozy, surrounded by the peers you so distance yourself from. You'll not be going anywhere at all.') She ground her teeth, scoffed and rolled her eyes, though it didn't faze the Herla around her. They were used to her doing such things, though many assumed it was in response to a question or a statement, and whether it was directed to her or not never seemed to matter. "I'll be going anywhere I please, thank you very much," she hissed, shaking her head from side to side in a swaying motion.

"Pardon?"

She froze and her eyes shot open, her pretty, golden eyes staring straight ahead. Who had heard her? Who had heard her? The growing number of questions that filled her mind seemed to escalate in both sound and frenzy, her ears swiveling back to see if they could heard any whispers, any sign that more than one had heard her. But all she heard was the sound of singing and hooves as they danced across the earth. Slowly, she relaxed, however slightly, and turned to face the Herla.

He was a mountain deer, beautiful and brown, with snowy accents and a thick, heavy beard that ran from the tip of his chin down his breast, though whether it carried on or ended there could not be determined. He seemed to be confused, or rather, bemused at her talking to herself, and she could only smile at him, impressed by his looks and his ability to act so naturally around her. Perhaps he wasn't from here, and simply didn't know the myth that surrounded her name. "Terribly sorry, darling. I was recalling something my... sister had told me when I was younger." ('Liar.') "I was simply stating, as if to reassure myself, that I'd be going anywhere and doing anything I liked." He smiled, and then let out a hearty guffaw, throwing his head back with the action. He had a nice laugh, she noted happily. "One of those 'I'm better than you,' siblings, eh? I had a few myself."

No, definitely not from around here. She laughed lightly, a sound not often heard, and a few of the surrounding harts turned to stare, only to turn their gazes (and glares) towards the large newcomer. "Yes, well, what's a family without them?" she asked, smiling. "I am Etang, Lily of the Court." It was a sort of grand opening, but one she was used to by now. "Lily of the Court, hn? Well, miss Etang, I am Voeux, Leopard of the North." She couldn't help but blink at his title, wondering if he had done it merely to copy her, if if he was, truly, the Leopard. "And why, sir Vouex, are you the Leopard?" His grin seemed to mirror the one she had worn earlier, when dismissing the hind. "A few reasons, my dear Lilly, though few I'm willing to openly discuss. Perhaps you could follow me to a more... private location, and we could exchange stories of our titles?"

She liked that idea.
She liked it very much.

There were a few (rather loud) grumbles of disapproval, and she remembered where she was. ('Oh, go on, you little harlot. Maybe we can go home yet with a little more worth to your name.') "I... I couldn't." The look that crossed his face was one of disappointment and, perhaps, some bewilderment. However, before he could make any remarks, she continued on. "What I mean, sir Leopard, is that I couldn't possibly leave without at least having a dance with my suitor." This seemed to remedy it, and he grinned. She found that she liked his grin, almost as much as she liked his laugh. And so, they danced. They dance for what seemed like ages, twisting and turning and entwining themselves around one another, though she pulled back whenever his fur grazed hers. It was not suitable, after all, to be seen touching another Herla in public when they were not mates. And the whole while, they never ceased their chattering. ('Look, look! He's starting, the little worm! Look at how he covets her, never allowing another stag to cut in! Oh, and look at how she responds! Little harlot, little whore. You rotten little piece of deer, you lovely little harlot! Drink him in, drink him up, let him go not!')

It was too much for her to bear.

The years of trained silence, the years of seeming self-supporting, never needing anyone, were breaking down, all in a matter of hours. They chipped at the wall, eroding and breaking it down, their incessantly high, soprano voices grating at her ears. Suddenly, she broke. She froze mid-dance, and Voeux near toppled over her, three or four other couples of Herla having nearly down the same. She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head from side to side violently, her teeth grinding on each other again. The mountain stag bent his head to look at her face, and become troubled upon finding her expression so tense. "Etang, Lily, what is it? Have I done something to ail you? Upset you? Etang, look at me; Etang, answer me!"

"Shut up."

He pulled back stunned. "P-Pardon?" he asked, repeating the same word he'd used only so recently. Suddenly, she leaned into him, as if exhausted, and he watched, mortified, as her wings began to claw at her back -- her very own back! -- as if they would find some reprieve. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" She snarled, not caring to notice that almost all of the dancing Herla had stopped to crowd and stare. Voeux hissed at them in response, trying his hardest to shoo them away, and most did. They turned at his dark expression and fled to the safety of the trees, where they would watch without fear. Some, however, stayed, knowing he could not move with her against him like that. "Lily, Lily, Lily," he cooed in her ear, and she moaned, long and torturous. ('Look at them stare! Look at them stare, look at them stare! All the attention on out little Etang. Oh, how joyous, how dreadfully joyous!') They were giggling now, enthralled with her pain and her soon-to-be embarrassment. "Shut up..." she whimpered, and fell to her knees, an opportunity that Voeux took to chase off the remaining bystanders, and then return to her side and stand guard. "Etang, darling, what's the matter?" he asked, whispering into her ear.

"They won't shut up, Voeux. They won't cease, they simply won't!" She was on the verge of tears, and the poor mountain stallion was only more confused as to what she meant. "Who, darling? Who?" She couldn't bring herself to it. She could not look up and tell him that she was mad, she simply couldn't! Oh, how they would laugh if she did it! And so, she made something up, right on the spot: to keep him there, to keep them away, to keep whatever remained of her dignity. "The ghosts, Voeux: the ghosts of the past. They haunt me so, these memories." He gave a soft 'hush' in her ear, and quickly looked around. "Where do you live, Lily?" When she jolted back to reality and seemed to pull away, mortified, he shook his head, offering another 'hush.' "No, darling, not that way. I want to help you home. I'll stay with you, until this episode is over, and when you're all better, you can send me away, if you like. Come now, get up and guide me. We needn't let them see this for much longer."

And she got to her feet and let him guide her home, the hundreds of eyes watching her as she left. She would not go back to Whitemoon Glenn for many nights to come, she knew.
And, for a while, at least, Voeux would stay with her and be her companion. It wasn't the best ending she had hoped for, but it was certainly better than anything that might have happened, should she have lost all control.

Yawning softly he dipped his head, rubbing his eye against his knee to rid himself of the lingering effects of sleep. Stretching both front legs out, thick fur dusting the ground, he stretched out with a long yawn, chest dipping briefly before he righted himself once again, short fuzzy tail flicking as the tension left his spine. Dropping his gaze to the stream at his hooves he studied his reflection thoughtfully, mind drifting back over the previous evening.

The blue, winged female he had stumbled over was breath-taking, an angel and yet she was a total enigma at the same time. What troubled her so much to cause the episode that had happened? The though of all those others looking on, the expressions and feelings he had caught from amongst them made his fur bristle and his ears flatten against his head. She was one of them, was she not? How could they just stand there, and worse.. throw accusing or curious glances!

Frowning into the water he dropped his muzzle and took a long drink. He couldn't linger too long, he wanted to get back to her, to the Lily. She would wake without him there and he didn't want to disappoint or distress her. He had stayed up most of the night, watching over the female as she finally succumbed to the need for sleep. It had been a rough night for her, and he wished he could have done more to ease her troubles. Yet all he had been able to do is just stay with her, gently soothing her fur when she appeared stressed, and trying to stop those wings from doing further damage to her slender back.

Lifting his head, water dripping from his muzzle, he snorted softly. There was so much he didn't know about this band, but what he was sure of, was that he wanted to go back to her, the Lily. Fascinating and beautiful Etang.

Turning with that thought in mind, he took two steps before the very female who possessed his thoughts appeared out of the shadows. A soft smile touched his expression at the sight of her. At least she felt well enough to be up and about. Padding over, stride long and confident, he brushed against her side, rounded her backside and stopped at her opposite flank, neck arching as he gently studied the wounds upon her back, wanting to be sure they were healing. "How do you feel this afternoon, little Lilly?" He asked, voice soft with a velvet huskiness. The words were gentled and caring, the tender nick-name already possessing a certain fondness in the tone.