She is not alone for long, and her father's warmth spread through the humid air like the softest of breaths. A smile, wide and toothy, spreads on her face; her sire, her king, her idol, stands before her in the flesh, gallant and tall and immeasurably beautiful. Vaguely, Israfel wonders why mother rarely speaks of him and, she assumes, would not stand to meet him, if he is so handsome and kind and - the questions vanish instantly before her vermilion eyes as she leans into his welcome touch, feeling warm and whole as his nose brushes through her pale forelock. Heat grows in her belly, expanding with every breath she takes, crisp and warm from the presence of her sire. I need you, she desperately wants to say, but bites her tongue in fear of appearing stupid and ignorant. He is a god, after all, and has much more important things to do than attend to his whining babe and instead, she glances upward to him, suddenly dizzy with love and affection. "I've missed you," the girl murmurs, as if she had met him in the first place. No, she thinks, he's been with me all along. She craves to bury her head in his powerful golden chest, to feel the sun's heat.

What do you want? His voice vibrates through every fiber of her being, and the only answer she can dispense is you.

A thousand possibilities traipse through her mind, drowning her desire in a tide of flames and light. She knows how it is to be consumed by fire, to produce it from her raw bones, but she does not know how to be fire, to feel your very atoms billow with the fire's ancient dance. Israfel hopes to not come off as greedy to her darling father, and something odd sparkles at the edge of her eyes. I want this, it says, reflecting the ageless grace of her father's face, but it's not what I really want. She shrugs the feeling off, discounting it for hours and hours spent alone, contemplating how tragic her life must be without a father, only to realize he was with her anyway. "Can I.. become fire?", she asks, a slight tremor in her high, girlish voice. Maybe he will understand. Her pink lip twitches slightly, and her wide eyes widen to further take him in - he is truly everything she dreamed and desired him to be, and much more.

"I know", she responds sweetly, a smile piquing at her pink lips at his laugh, but suddenly, she feels light flood through her body, fire expanding from her marrow. It is a familiar sensation, as if she is burning from the inside. The fire radiates outward, and Israfel can only manage a strangled cry before being whisked away, and when she opens her eyes, she is beside Father and he is watching her, handsome and golden as ever. His voice is gentle and deep in her pale ears, and she tilts them backward. "At will", she replies, the blue liquid flame surrounding them glittering in her big vermilion eyes. "To be made of fire," a big smile skims back flushed pink lips; she loves telling stories. "So I become the fire, and the fire is me." Israfel quirks her head, watching him quietly. So many questions bubble at her mind, but she is so, so afraid to appear the idiot before her god-father. A stale wind rolls through the Veins, sending hot air against her skin.

She recalls a story her mother once told her, of Loorien's birth. A crown creases her lovely youthful face like a passing cloud on a clear day. "Did you make the world?" she wonders aloud, eyes flicking toward the scorched earth beneath them, tracing the parched cracks.