In the expanse of space after the collapse of her words, Fire Dancer holds fiercely onto her isolation, clings to it as a dying girl might the flotsam of her destroyed ship. She shrouds herself in the bitter distance, imagining a tundra between herself and her cousin- but the tundra is crumbling, steadily and undeniably, shattering with every step the dragonmare takes. Tandavi's world shifts between her cousin's weight, the raft of her independence quivering beneath this added weight. She wills it, prays that Amaris will come no further, for if the child falls back into the well of familiarity, she is certain to drown.

The light of Fajira is too bright to focus on, so firechild stares instead at the lake, onyx gaze skimming restlessly over distant shadows, her attention refusing to settle on any single one. Still, she sees the reaction elicited by her careless words; she is drawn to it against her will, her eyes drifting unbidden to the cousin whose face is awash in pain. A distant, rebellious part of her longed to comfort the stricken girl, to pull her into a flaming embrace, draw her tight against her breast; and another part, a smaller part, a wretched and twisted part thinks that Amaris deserves it, that her cousin should suffer as she has suffered, cry as she has cried.

You are turning into Reginald, a voice (Natraj's? Her own?) whispered in the girl's head, and she shuddered, repulsed, a sickening loathing growing in her throat. No, Amaris does not deserve this pain, but she does, deserves all of it and more, for the monster she has become- the monster she has always been.

It's not fair, her cousin cries, and the copper child silently agrees: no, it isn't, it isn't fair for one so good to see so much bad. It isn't fair that I could not spare you this, cannot protect you even now. The world is not fair, my little dragon, and I wish I could be what you need.

But I cannot.

For a moment she is too locked within her own mind, and so she loses track of her distraught kin; when Amaris next enters her awareness, it is through the feeling of warm scales and hot breath on her neck. Ebony eyes open wide and the girl's muscles ripple in a minuscule start, an electric current leaping through her hollow form. Desperately her mind she resists her cousin, fights against the force of attraction, the love which sings between their souls, as surely as it ever had between the girl and Natraj; and just as surely her body succumbs, relaxing slowly against the dragonmare's embrace, neck arching almost unconsciously, protectively, over her cousin's poll.

"I'm sorry, Amaris," she murmurs low against her cousin's mane, deep voice quivering with repressed emotion, black eyes staring across the water and into something deep, unknown. "Mirage loved you... so did Lace. So did my mother. So do I."

She pauses, and now at last her eyes grow moist, though her mind rails against it, her heart beats a furious No. No, she will not cry for them, not again, not now; she will not falter, will not allow sorrow to fill her cup, for with sorrow comes memory, emotion, remorse. If she allows herself to feel she opens herself up to deeper cuts: or so she repeats, again and again, a marching mantra of stubborn soldiers pounding in her head. Only anger can burn away the pain, so she clings to it, wears it in those moments where the still is too much to maintain, lets it sear away all of her that still remains, leaving behind a hollowed husk.

Her voice is vibrant when she speaks again, brittle with betrayal, weary beyond her years. "Love is not enough," the Fire Dancer whispers harshly.

Tears fall down her cheeks.