//------------------------------//
// Forged 
// Story: Book 1 - The Behemoth came to Canterlot 
// by Equimorto 
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It wasn't any easier on her the next time through, though it was an easier thing overall. She got out almost immediately. She was scared, almost terrified, and she took the first chance she had to leave something she didn't want to be a part of. In a way it helped with calming her nerves, it helped reassure her that things were okay, that she could be safe. At the same time, it wasn't of much use. She learned little to nothing from the experience. It was like trying to swim by dipping her hooves into the water, then pulling back. Only there was no one else there who could help her, and if she wanted to learn she had to risk drowning.
She was aware of that. She'd always been as she'd thought through her plan. It wasn't simply about being in the state she would put herself in, she had to do something. Because if the point was to control it, to use it to her advantage in times of need, then she needed to actually get used to using it as much as possible. And that was an insidious trap, because the more she used it, the tighter its grip on her grew, the more her control slipped. Because it was true. It felt good. And the better it felt the less reason she saw to quit.
It was about striking a balance. Pushing further than the time before, to make progress, but not so far as to lose herself in it. Sometimes she would pull back too soon. That was okay. Better too soon than too late, she always had more time, she always had another chance the day after she wouldn't have if she drowned in it. But she could never be quite sure just how far she could go, and how much further she could push herself. She couldn't recognise her limit unless she got close to it, and sometimes that meant taking a blind step, aware of the risk that she might end up on the other side.
It didn't happen. She didn't know if it was luck or skill, she wasn't sure and she wasn't confident enough to believe she was gifted with either in that period. She was still scared, and she was torn between her fear and the allure of the whole thing. Because using it felt good, and if she began to take control of it that feeling rooted itself in logical justifications. If she began to trust herself, she risked slipping. She risked believing she was in control even when she wasn't.
The place around her began to look like a mess after just a few attempts. It was a good way to get the tangle of feeling inside her out in some way, and she needed to use it for something anyway. Destruction wasn't its only purpose, but it was a simple alley to channel a lot of energy into. And better there than towards someone else.