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Shion hated Orfevre.
At least, that's what she thought. Sincerely.
How many times had she lost to her? Two? Three? Four? Shion stopped counting. So much training, so much effort and time had she spent trying to surpass her, the golden tyrant, but it was all in vain.
"I'll never defeat her."
Orfevre was everything. Everything Win Variation desired. Orfevre received attention, public recognition. People bet on her without fear of losing. Orfevre enjoyed racing, she was first in everything and everyone. Shion could only dream of such a thing.
She wanted to be like her, too. Just as strong and majestic, just as irresistible and brilliant. Orfevre was an unattainable ideal, impossible to reach.
These feelings—envy, jealousy—they consumed her. It was so upsetting she felt like tears, like bitten lips and nails dug into her palms. If only she could get even one step closer to her.
This desire to conquer, to break Orfevre, had become a mania. A complete obsession. A desire for her attention, her recognition. Shion began to follow her, to catch her majesty's every step, every gesture. Her face, always confident, seemed like a true work of art. Something she wanted to squeeze in her hands and break. Admiration mingled with envy, love giving way to hatred. Shion wanted to embrace her slender neck, gently caress it, so that at the last moment she could squeeze it and end it all. Then she could be first.
This was wrong. Shion scolded herself for these dark thoughts, but she couldn't help herself. The less she tried to think about her, the stronger her feelings and desires became. This adoration was destroying her. Orfevre was an invasive species, a parasite that had infiltrated Vin's life and refused to leave.
And then she appeared. Another small sore on her delicate skin. Gentildonna. The one who had vanquished the tyrant.
"It wasn't me."
Hatred, no longer suppressed, coursed through her veins, poisoning her young blood. Her dreams had been stolen, her queen trampled and left with nothing. Damn this Japan Cup, damn Gentildonna, and damn Orfevre.
Carrots weren't fun, racing no longer seemed interesting, her friends and Cheval were worried. Her whole life was going downhill. Shion was rotting from the inside. The once-beautiful red hyacinth was now withering beyond hope of salvation.
If only she could throw away her problems and rewrite history. But you can't run from fate. And fate ran. She ran, lapping around and around until her legs gave out. She cried, tore at the grass with her hands, unable to control her emotions. Why did everything turn out this way? Why was she like this?
"Why can't I do anything?"
Today, Win Variation fell asleep at the stadium, covered with someone's embellished beige vest.