Asch

Magic does not exist within them all, but those who do find it hidden deep inside, interwoven among the innermost workings of their energy and soul, often don't know they have it. Asch could recall how she'd determined her own magic, purely incidentally of course. Recollection did not come easily, repressed memories composed of the darkest sort of experiences. Rather, it was something Asch never desired to remember, and so she had shuttered it away in the tightest of metal boxes, soldered shut with the ferocity of her own desires to remain untouched by such things. Her scars had faded, youth lending her nigh regenerative abilities, Lena's song mended straight into the skin of her younger self. Still, she could not stand to see her own reflection, at times. Even with the flesh healed and hardly off-color, she could still recall the burn of flames against her spine, the shriek of a crazed dragon, the bloodlust in his bonded's eyes.

How playful cavorting could turn sour so fast was beyond the mental grasp of the golden girl, but still her eyes widened into a gleam of peridot surprise as the ring of connection swirled up her leg. She retreats as swiftly as her gangly legs can hold her, thrusting herself away as she spies the glow of ember in his dark stone features, smoke on granite as his internal war is lost. Set upon her, his internalized weakness, fissured greed and distress. Emotional distress seemed the best kind of fuse for magical discovery.

It flares from him like a supernova, an exploding sun that manifests in the form of hot flames that kiss and seduce her. She shies away, instinctive fear, a memory of a thousand bolts of fire heading straight toward her. A hound rushing to defend her sister, ready to take the blush of pain straight to her bones. Asch is too unwilling to relive such a thing, and she is half caught in flashbacks, in a mirage of pain and a gaping maw of magic to realize what is happening until it is already done. Her right shoulder is left half-singed, stinging, sweltering. A new memory to add to her fear bank of fire.

Even so, Erebos is her only friend, and though she trembles with fear he can never understand, she can see the lack of comprehension in what he has done.

"Are you okay?" is first to sputter from her lips, despite she being the one with a singed shoulder, a burdened mind. Advancing towards him tentatively, she cast her eyes at him, little hazel orbs of understanding. "Was that your first time, doing that?" Perhaps it was presumptuous of her, but she recalled all too vividly her own magic revealing itself. Tiny birdlike shoulders shrugged, a shy smile on her face, far different from her acting previously. Where she had been elegant, beautiful, entitled. She had been dethroned as effectively as he had, when her hoof had struck him. Even with smoke still curling from her skin, she could not place him with blame. She was perhaps too kindly, or maybe she was far too desperate to acquire his friendship.

"I did the same thing, when I found mine. I can...I can superheat blood, boil it even." Would sharing help him stabilize? Would he even cease, listen to her? Or was she the same target she'd always been, a body to be beaten and bruised?

all those years never feeling pretty