I was looking for a breath of life
another taste of divine rush
Everything about her past screams that SHE SHOULDN’T LIKE THE FIRE. That dream, the burning, the way her minature, stiff legs melted and twisted together over the open flames. That pain that was so real, the screeching that no one could hear. A dream, a dream, a dream, adreamadreamadream. Maybe if she tries to forget it, it will never have happened. Her mind only has room for so much: Straia, bunnies, stupidface Gryffen (she does not like him, even though they are on the same team. He is so snide, so mean, thinks his shit doesn’t stink. Oh how she’d love to - you see? obsessive), Straia, and now - the fire that keeps on burning. Fire isn’t supposed to do that. This is magical fire. This is… almost as good as Straia.
Don’t ask her why, but she’s fascinated by it. Shaytan could stare at its dancing, twisting, crackling little branches with glassy eyes for a very long time.
But even self-styled sentinels need a bathroom break.
Shaytan and Kushiel must keep just missing each other, because when the large, spotted mare returns, she sees the gray stallion rubbings obscenely (in her mind) up against it. Assaulting the tree. Getting intimate. NO. No no no! That is not ok! She sputters and squeaks and almost begins to froth at the mouth in reaction to the perceived slight against both her and the tree. “No!” she manages to finally say, bolting forward towards Kushiel’s rear end (if he hasn’t already turned at the sound of her labored breathing), just to try and move him away from the tree.
She doesn’t know what it’s like to be the flame. She has no special traits or anything that makes her stand out, aside from the occasional rodent blood splashed across her lips. She is just Shaytan. And she needs to keep the flames safe. Just like she needs Straia.
Shaytan
so many lives
so many pairs of eyes