It never fails to make me smile.
A hard coolness, focused, as sharp as a dagger’s precise point. Left alone, it forms an emptiness, deep and cold, but I do not allow it to fester long enough. Instead, I channel it, a touch like ice flowing through my veins.
Sparks burst from the tips of my fingers, shortly followed by a flickering flame. But it is not amber and brightest orange, as fire should be. This flame is mine, and it is deepest black.
My smile appears then, an instinctive twitch, as I let the fire grow. It splits apart, tracing its gentle way across the back of my hand, then returning to my fingers as dark tendrils intertwine at my knuckles. I tip my hand, concentrating the flame so that it burns in the centre of my palm.
A sigh releases from my chest as I stare at it. With its silent smoulder, every clawing emotion within me falls as harmless ashes.
It is a curious thought: how my sole means of comfort is the very thing that keeps me here.
Letting the flame slide down to circle my forearm, I turn. A wall greets me. It is built of nothing but jagged rock, but it too is mine, and so I am grateful for it. My finger moves forward to trace the marks carved into it. Tiny lines grouped in fours, with a fifth striking each one to form my own rough tally.
I don’t remember consciously deciding to stop adding to their numbers. All I know is at some point in time, I grew tired of counting the days I spent here. Or maybe I simply ran out of space.
I begin trying to count them, but before I can even reach one hundred, the faint warmth of my flame catches ahold of my thoughts. With a flick of my wrist, I send a trail of dark fire shooting from my fingertip. As soon as it reaches the hard ground, it blazes up, licking at the dry air with an unrestrained energy.
Eyes remaining fixed on it, hand twitching to maintain its flicker, I bend down, my knees scraping roughly on stone. I don’t care for the pain. It never leaves a mark, anyway. Focused only on the flame, I let it spread to become a streak of deepest shadow, then wind it around, forming a series of fiery coils. I give it a head, a jaw, ebony eyes to meet my unwavering gaze.
A creature sits before me. A snake, if my fractured memory serves me. It hisses silently, stretching black fangs shaped of fire.
My fingers dance over its head, and it breaks from its coil, commencing a slow slither across the uneven ground. I lie beside it, paying the rock’s scratch no attention. As it moves, I follow it, the ice in my veins gradually thawing with every crack of flame.
But we cannot travel far.
As I tilt sideways, still sliding along with the flaming snake, a hard press meets my shoulder. I stop, a twitch of my hand commanding the snake to do the same. My world is so small. It starts at the marked wall, and it ends here, at the opposite side of my cell.
With a sigh, I adjust myself, resting my back against the lattice of black bars. I reach for the snake, and it glides over my stretching legs, before rearing up to face me.
“At least I have you,” I say. My finger traces its shadowed head, and I chuckle. Here I am, stroking a form of my own power as if it were a real creature.
The snake cocks its head sideways. I know its eyes are merely a mirror of my own, but they seem to examine me all the same.
“Yes, I know. I am a fool.”
“Talking to yourself again?”
I’m on my feet in moments, whirling to face the bars. Outside my cell, a man stands, a smirk tugging at his lips. I feel a flush of embarrassment, then remind myself that their opinion of me was formed long before now, and meet his gaze evenly.
“I find myself good company,” I say. Still, my hand slides behind my back, and I feel the snake disappear.
The man gives a small shake of his head. He crosses to the cell’s rusted door, and I notice he holds a tray containing a few thick slices of buttered bread. In a practiced movement, he slots the tray through the hatch at the bottom of the door, and meets my eyes again as he stands.
We remain that way for a few seconds. It feels as if he’s waiting for something, and so I wait too, my fingers interlocking behind my back.
Eventually, he steps forward. “You know, you might receive a little more company if you weren’t so…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely at me.
“So what?” Fire bursts suddenly around my hands, and although I try to hold it back, I see his gaze dart to it. He flinches backwards.
“Hostile, perhaps,” he snaps back, but the fear shines bright in his eyes.
“Oh, I do apologise.” My words are tainted with venom. He is doing a wonderful job of proving why my own company is welcomed. “When you find a way to remove this, do let me know.”
I hold my hand up, allowing my black flames to strike at the bars, and he takes another hesitant step back. My smile rises to the surface again.
“Stop that,” he says. An order, most likely. I don’t obey. “I’ll tell the king that you threatened me,” he adds, his tone a feeble attempt at menace.
I scoff and pull my hand away, though the flames keep burning at my side. “His highness can hardly combat me.” In truth, I don’t consider merely using my power a threat. The guards should know by now I have no intention of hurting them; if I did, I would have done so long before now.
Yet they fear me still. I clench my fist, and the fire shrinks.
The man eyes me nervously, though I sense his relief at the retracted fire. “Don’t try anything,” he warns. I snort a laugh, but he is already turning, his footsteps hollow and sharp as he makes his escape through the dark passage.
My flame ignites the moment he is gone. I twist it over my wrist. I suppose I should feel sorry for the guards that end up venturing down here. They must not be well-liked, or they wouldn’t get given such an awful job. It’s not like anyone in their right mind would choose to visit me.
Except one, but she is no guard.
Stepping back, I lie back against the wall, letting its grooves dig into my back. I stare out at the wiry bars and the darkness beyond. So much time down here alone, a time I have no means to measure, and I still cannot grow used to their fear. To me, my power feels so kind -- a welcome touch, like the brush of a cool breeze when all else threatens to burn my calm away.
But it is far from kind. I must remind myself of what its flames are capable of.
With a small shake of my head, I let the fire flare darker, hoping to lose myself in its blaze. But just as my eyes slide closed, the pad of soft footsteps send rippling echoes to fill my cell, a gentle warning of company.
I snap my fingers closed, hand tightening into a fist as the flame is extinguished. As the sound grows closer, I take a cautious step towards the bars, hardly daring to hope.
But I am correct in my hopeful wish. As I should be; I know her quiet step by now.
Comments (0)
See all