Roses in Bloom thought herself unflappable. In her dreams, she had been through horrors untold- she had watched kin melt, be eaten alive, explode from the stomach and be done. She had thought those sorts of horrors the worst she could possibly bear.
Oh, how she had been wrong.
"I-it all began..." Roses murmured quietly, trying to steady her uneven breathing, "with Walking Root. Oh, my sweet darling. Does it ever begin any other way?" She laughed here, breathless and shaky, and Not With a Bang pressed gently against her. What a good, sweet daughter. Not flighty like she was, but more grounded. Like her mother. Roses in Bloom closed her eyes, and continued on with her tale...
...The night is dark. It always is, in these sorts of things. She has been running for so long- the pain shoots through her legs, courses through her veins like thorns. Her breath is ragged, heart racing. Where has Walking Root gone? She has done this before, hunted this nightmarish landscape for her love. But this time, she knows, is different.
Behind every tree, around every bend, there is a flash of purple. Just a glimpse of a lithe limb, a touch of light laughter, to keep her barreling down this path. Was Walking Root... running from her? Was this a game?
She pauses, just a short moment to catch her breath, when she steps falsely in the wood. Her ankle catches on some unseen branch, and Roses tumbles through the brier. How sad, she thinks! How sad that the Root should be what throws me into the roses' thorns. But it seems that is not her fate. Her frail body slides from beneath the bushes, onto safe ground, and she is free.
...At least, until the ground starts sinking.
She tries to get up, to free herself from the bog that has caught her, but to no avail. Her fur, matted with blood and sweat, sticks in the mud and drags her down for her struggles. First her legs, and chest... finally, all that is left of her is her head. She wails into the night, no longer able to pull. The fight is gone.
Where is her Walking Root?!
And just when it seems all hope is gone, there. There she is, like the sunrise on the darkest of nights. She feels her heart leap from her chest at the sight of her love, trotting towards her to free her... but no. Something is wrong. Roses, with all that she is able, lifts her head to beg one question.
"What is wrong?"
"Wrong?" Walking Root replies with a scoff, leering down at her with disdain. "Nothing is wrong. In fact, everything is finally right. This bog is getting rid of you for me- I don't have to lift a hoof," she sneers, sitting plainly in front of Roses. But this cannot be! Walking Root is her life, her friend, her love-
"Did you really think," Walking Root continues, cocking her head in mock interest, "that I would love you? A pathetic little foal that can't even walk on her own? Please. You were a joke. You always have been."
...No, no! This is not true! These must be her own fears speaking, her own insecurities springing forth. Just as she is about to argue this, Walking Root stands and paces forth. One of her hooves comes down upon Roses' head, pushing- forcing- her further into the bog.
The sand and grime flood into her mouth, choking down her throat and filling her belly before she can think otherwise. There is not even the air to cough, the strength to cry, as her love forces her into the ground.
"Dawn's First Light and I... we'll be better off. It's really for the good of our children, that you just disappear." It is the last she hears before the sand takes her eyes, her ears, and she is drowning.
And maybe, she thinks. Maybe this is for the best after all.
Then, there is nothing.
...For all that she tried to be strong, Roses in Bloom was now crying at this point.
"I- I'm so sorry. For all that I've overcome, and done... it still frightens me. How lovely your mother is, and how I fear her leaving me. Sometimes I wonder if I should just vanish... before she does." She spoke the last in a whisper, a harsh admittance to the world of her own disgusting insecurities. For a while, Not With A Bang said nothing. What was there to say? She did, eventually, slide her head beneath her mom's to nuzzle her gently.
"...It is not wrong to be afraid, mom," she spoke softly, not wanting to upset the already fragile doe. "But you cannot let them define you."
"I do not know how else to live," Roses in Bloom admitted sadly, simply resting against her daughter. She had known these fears for so long, now. Had always started awake in the night, panting and afraid, that Walking Root had finally gone.
Perhaps, one day, she would admit this fear to Root. Would truly tell the doe how much she meant to her.
But she could not shake the thought- the feeling- of Root's weight bearing onto her, burying her in the swamp, to be rid of her.
What she had not told Not With A Bang was how she always believed the dream to be real.
Sometimes even after she woke.