| The girl floats as a shadow through the world, alone and empty as her injuries mend. Still a wraith on a narrow frame, the cuts are scabbing and the limping less; she hides her struggle behind hard black eyes, drifting aimlessly through the winding halls. She has been here for a mere count of days- or is it eons? She cannot tell. What she knows is that time trickles endlessly here, in the underground cage where she finds herself trapped. It teases and taunts and lies to her face, and no passage of sun or shift in the air can confirm or deny the deceit of the Gods.
In this twice-frozen moment the girl waits, alone, and in waiting grows restless, angry and sad. Beaten by exhaustion she yet struggles to sleep, for the darkness brings only the glare of their faces, Lace and Natraj and their bravery and her fear. The stone brought by Kali burns bright in her mane, nested among the braids that the gryphon has fixed, re-tied and re-bound in a semblance of beauty; but even its light is not enough to drive away her fear, merely hold it at bay, a shadow that lurks in the corner of her eye. The gifts of her mother are a comfort in the dark, but they cannot assuage her guilt, merely deepen her distress.
So when Kali departs back into the night and the girl is left with Fajira as guide, disease settles heavy in the base of her throat, and the girl grows restless in her anxious disquiet. The little white dragon reminds her of her sins; not with words or accusations, but with her eyes, her shape, the whispered memory of a a fox and a man who gave up themselves as sacrifices to the night. Every glance at the dragon jolts the copper filly's heart, sending it plummeting back down to her hooves, reminding her bitterly of shortcomings and fear. It furthers her restlessness, sets her teeth on edge. It angers her, saddens her, and makes her need to run.
So when Fajira's asleep and the girl awake, she slips away into the labyrinth of the caves, drawn to the scent of the ashy, overground air. Bobbing and weaving, a beacon underground, she flits on the edges of the surface of the earth, debating the ascent back into the dark. In the time that has past her desire has grown, the need and want and burning guilt, and though she does not know it, the seeds of heroism have been planted in her heart; she wants to leave, to rescue the others. She wants to save Lace. She needs to save Natraj. But she is afraid, so afraid, afraid of the dark and the night and the demons that lurk. What good can she do, the little lost flame, against a tidal wave of shadow- what light can she shed? What difference can she make?
---- HELP ME!
She runs. On spindly legs she leaps to action, the fear cast off by a primal need, a medieval instinct to be a hero, an angel, a knight. Scrambling up the crumbling slope, the girl stumbles, staggers, falls; but as the phoenix rises again, at last to breach the world's lip. They aren't far from safety, the fallen cherubs, one afraid and one... wrong. Wrong, so broken, he brings her up short, the quenched alarm bubbling up against her shining shield. Uninvited, the filly balks, and for a moment her youth and innocence are betrayed. Miniscule, wraith-like, what good is she against the beast? She hovers behind the painted mare, the one who called, and fights the urge to cry.
“I can help-” the girl begins, feeling the magic of Lena beneath her skin. But how? Can she even heal this? Anxious, flighty, she side-steps once and keeps her eyes on the demon, trying to make her voice big. “What- what should I do?” Black gaze keeps the stallion caught, flicking once to the painted mare as the girl seeks guidance, seeks fuel for her courage.
[ @[Miykael], @[Alysanne] ]
THE FIREDANCER
for it was I who walked among the falling stars, and did not burn | |
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
[P] when you feel my heat, look into my eyes [Alysanne]
