all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash Eventually, the kingdom meeting draws to a close, and with it, Cress finds that she has more pressing matters to attend to. There is someone she has to find. Is he still here? Did he flee when Demian disappeared, when she disappeared? Did he take their son and drag him to some dark, dismal corner of Beqanna? There is no sign of him anywhere in the Valley; he was not at the kingdom meeting and there had been no mention of him at all. Surely Topsail or the newly crowned king—Eight—would have mentioned him (she nearly scoffs at that; Eight has ruled the Valley more times than any of them could possibly know). Is he gone? Is he dead?
She can’t bear to think it; he is her dear friend, her mentor, her ally. He was her (dare she say it?) one-time lover. He had provided her with a winged, fiery-spirited son who is more precious to her than anyone else in the world, and though she knows that he has countless other children, she can’t help but feel like… there was something special there. But then she had to go and disappear for reason she doesn’t even know how to explain to him, and it appears that he’s gone now too, and what if they’re both too far gone to ever return to the state they were before?
She’s not sure it’s possible.
She has burn scars still, memories of their passion.
Her own fire comes forth unbidden and she spits fire, angry at herself that she cannot control her thoughts. She whips her head toward the sky and breathes fire the way a dragon might, remembering the lessons he used to give her. Feel your fire, he told her in one of their lessons, when she had come to him begging him to teach her how to control it. He had taught her how to control her flames and she had let him burn her in return.
Now she turns her fire to the skies like the dragons of old. He will find her like that. cress oxytocin x kindling
from what i've tasted of desire, i'll hold with those who favor fire
Once, long ago, the Valley had burned with the heat of a thousand wildfires.
Now, now she smoldered; an ember glowing dull in the dying light. And yet, he remained. This place was his home and by all intents, his birthright. A son of the Dark God himself, and one blessed with gasoline in his veins, he stayed. But he hid himself away in the far flung corners of the kingdom, content as he could be in his solitude. Even the company of mares had lost its grandeur, something that had always given him pleasure before.
Perhaps because they were not her.
Where the gasoline burned his veins, in her it scorched her throat. Though she was timid, her fire could not be denied. It was as a part of her as her own beating heart, and he had been the one to help her embrace it instead of shying away. Feel your fire...he had begged of her, his own excitement over riding her fear. And oh, she had felt it, and in turn, felt his.
But she was gone now, and the flames he had once found pleasure in had lost their allure. That is until the stench of smoke reached his nostrils. He was alert then, his senses tingling and the flames rising along his spine for the first time in many years. Their fire had a certain smell to it, a taste; perhaps the magic lacing the flames. He turned his nebula face to the sky, his blue eyes catching the flicker of far off flames and reflecting them. Eager now, he headed towards the source. Though his dragon wings were gone, he was still light on his feet and knew the Valley well enough to make a quick trip.
He would not reveal himself to her in the conventional way, though. No, she was worthy of more than that.
So he stayed in the forest, hidden for the time being. Instead, he sent his own fire back towards her, in the shape of a Phoenix. The beautifully plumed bird soared towards the fire-breathing mare, mouth open in a silent song. Before it could land though, he twisted the fire again, this time forcing it to take the shape of a male lion. The lion slunk forward on silent paws, gracefully rubbing itself along the length of her body. Powers spent for the moment, he pulled the flames again, extinguishing them as suddenly as he had made them. Only when the lion was gone did he appear, stepping from the forest like a ghost. ”Cress.” he said simply, though his eyes perhaps said one hundred different things.
all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash As she loses herself in the flames, she loses herself in her thoughts.
She cannot help but be curious, for she loves her kingdom almost as much as she loves her kin; how has the Valley fared under its new leadership? Has the Valley loved Topsail as much as her previous rulers? Has it been burned with a new fire where before, when she had left, it was left to kindling and ashes? Or has it simply been smoldering with the absence of the pyromancers? Without those who wield the power of fire there is not much need for the flames, she has found. If there is no one to control them the flames sputter and die as if doused in water. While it might be true that she abandoned the kingdom for a time, maybe the Valley found fire elsewhere.
Burn, burn, burn, she urges the flames that pour from her mouth, and the inferno grows in its fervor, her already dark-gold coat darkening with sweat as the air around her grows heavy with heat. The flames in the sky can be seen from all corners of the kingdom, to be sure, but this is a release for her—this is not Cress trying to be a show-off (if there is one thing the golden girl has never been, it is a show-off). The intensity of this release is more relieving than anything she has felt in years and she cannot help the tears that spring to her eyes, though they turn to smoke the second they spill forth, melting away into nothingness. She has no reason to cry anymore.
(Maybe once, but nevermore)
Eventually they run out, and all she is left with is smoke and heat, curling all around her and darkening the day. The ash is heavy in her throat but it is nothing that she hasn’t grown accustomed to, nothing she cannot flick away with a thought—she is a healer, after all, and that is a power that she has been wielding a lot longer than her fire breath.
But oh, he finds her, surrounded by soot and smoke and remnants of flames.
A phoenix, melodic and beautiful, emerges from the trees and she smiles, but before she can reach for it, it twists into a majestic lion, its body made up of flame. It pads towards her and rubs along her body harmlessly and she shudders, pressing briefly into the lion before it vanishes and closing her eyes as she feels its warmth. It is warm and strong but there is no pain to the flames (he could burn her if he likes, but Cress’ own healing would put a stop to it). Oh, Flamevein.
Something just keeps drawing her back to him.
And then the lion is gone, almost as quickly as it and the phoenix had appeared. She opens her eyes then, in time to see the black stallion appear silently from the trees. He murmurs her names, but there are a thousand questions in his eyes. “Flamevein,” she breathes. The smile on her lips is one part sad, one part relieved, one part coy. She takes a step towards him and her golden nose brushes his starry one. “My fires have burned duller without you.”
And that could mean a million things. cress oxytocin x kindling
from what i've tasted of desire, i'll hold with those who favor fire
08-26-2016, 01:21 PM
(This post was last modified: 08-26-2016, 01:23 PM by Flamevein.)
Fire and gasoline were so often viewed as a deadly combination, but in them…in them, it worked. The combustion was something glorious to behold; feared and respected of course, but glorious nonetheless. All dangerous things held a certain amount of beauty. They were no exception.
They were the rule.
Their first encounter had been like the meeting of a match to kerosene. Powerful and all-consuming. Even he had been taken aback by it. He, an arrogant son of the Dark Lord and she, a timid kitten choking down the inevitable. But now though it was hard to say who was the match and who was the gasoline. They were now a matched set, one as dangerous and beautiful as the other. Two halves of the same whole.
Had he known what he would be missing, he would have followed her. To the ends of the earth, even, if it meant keeping the fires burning. But he had been naïve in a way only the most arrogant of creatures can be. So self assured in his own abilities and self, he had denied what he deep down knew was the truth. And so he had stayed when she left and for a while, all was well. But then his fire felt weaker somehow. That was impossible of course; fire was his birthright, it made up his entire being. And still it lost its appeal without his other half to share in the burn. So he stayed hidden in the high ridges, smoldering quietly but never quite burning.
She was back though, and he felt himself go ablaze in a way he had missed far too much. A smile twisted his lips as she leaned into the lion (him), allowing the firey cat to rub the length of her slender frame. Despite the fire belonging to him, he was suddenly envious. It would not due for the flames to feel what his flesh had been denied of. The sound of his name falling from his lips and her muzzle on his was his undoing. As the lion fell away he stepped in to take its place, starting at the base of her tail and running his muscular shoulder along the length of her spine, his teeth finding the golden flesh there while his tongue savored the taste of her. She tasted of ash and soot and all things dangerous. As his muzzle made its way along her back, flames rose in its path until she matched him. “But I’m here now, aren’t I? And you’re here…burn for me.” He said the last words like a prayer, his eyes begging it of her. He wanted (no, needed) to feel her heat again.
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