There is a storm in the distance, and she feels the thunder when it rumbles. She watches from beneath a tree on the outskirts of the forest, her bright eyes trained on the bruised sky. The storm lingers mostly above Tephra, and she will always find that fitting. She remembers being born there, close to the Taigan border. She remembers when the sky had been dark with ash and manifested shadows, and she had thought this is what the world was. She was born in the middle of a war and she grew up thinking things were meant to be burnt, that all things will catch fire eventually.

Whatever innocence and naivety had been salvaged had been destroyed by the time she reached adulthood. Adventures no longer had the childish thrill to them; not when the adventures led to a blood-stained battle dome. Not where she learned things about herself she had rather left hidden.

She turns her back on the storm when the rain begins to pelt the ground, angry and relentless. The shelter of the trees is not enough to ward off the rain here, and the water falls in near torrents through the limbs and the leaves, saturating her bi-colored skin and plastering her black mane against her neck. She continued into the dark of the forest, until the the rain was reduced to a mere sprinkle and drip-drops, water running in rivulets off the long tendrils of her mane and down her shoulder.

It’s when she hears the sound of something — someone — landing not far from her that she nearly starts, swinging her antlered head in the direction of the noise.

Curiosity gets the best of her, as it always does. She has decided that few things in this world are worse than having to kill a version of herself on the plains, and so she picks her way through the bramble and brush, not exactly making an effort to be silent. Whatever it was would either be another thing to fight, or it would be startled by the sound of twigs snapping and flee.

She is only mildly surprised to come face to face with a winged stallion, the rain still dripping from him similar to the way it did from her. She looks at him with vibrantly pink eyes, and with a tip of her head and an almost crooked smile she says, “Do you always fly during storms, or were you just feeling especially reckless today?”

Aislyn

she set fire to all the things that held her back
and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was

If she notices his flicker of displeasure at the sight of her, she either ignores it or simply doesn’t care. There wasn’t much that offended her. When she was younger, she had simply been too outgoing and friendly to be put off by the iciness of others. Despite being born into flames and chaos she had still harbored a youthful naivety, though reality had since ripped the remainder of that away. Now, slightly older and a little more jaded, she hears his irritated sigh and steps closer anyway. There is almost a dare glinting in her brightly colored eyes – wondering if he will just bluntly tell her to leave, and wondering if she would even listen. She’s never been a very good listener.

Instead he laughs, and inwardly her guard relaxes even if her face remains impassive. “Don’t worry, I’m not,” she jests in that dry way of hers, though there is almost a warmth to the smile that graces her lips now. “I don’t know you well enough to be concerned.” The upward tilt of her mouth implies she is still teasing, though there is an inkling of truth to it. She is not sure when she became so detached and separated from everyone else, but learning – or at least pretending – to not care seemed safer.  She isn’t sure if she will ever be able to undo it.

“Aislyn,” she tells him in response to his own introduction. She angles her antlered head — she no longer notices the foreign weight of them, and she hardly remembers what it felt like to be without them — to observe him a little more closely, noticing his own horns, though she does not comment on them. “Where were going that was so important?” Or what were you running from? she thinks, but does not ask. She knows what it means to run. She has been running for a long time now, and doubts she will ever stop.

Aislyn

she set fire to all the things that held her back
and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was

"Not really," she answers his question, the words nearly a drawl in their feigned nonchalance. "But you're here, and I work with the material I am given." She would not admit that there is still a part of her that craves company. That trapped beneath the stone that was piling on top of itself, there was still the same vivacious, friendly girl that didn't know a stranger. That while she may pretend to not care one way or another if he was here or not, that young girl inside was praying that he wouldn't leave.

When was the last time she had even spoken to anyone, she wonders? She had avoided Voracious, preferring to ignore the uncomfortable feelings he created.  It was impossible to look at him and not remember how she had earned her antlers by shedding his blood (an imitation of him, at least, but the viciousness with which she had committed the acts was not fabricated at all). She has not seen either of her parents lately, either, letting them play out their bizarre romance in privacy. She knows she has more siblings, countless halves from her father's side, a few from her mother, and one full brother that she almost regrets disappearing on.

It was easy to separate herself from anyone that she might hurt, or that would have the ability to hurt her in return. It was easier to keep that idea of family as something intangible, to leave it in Hyaline and never re-visit it.

It's why she understands that he wanted to be alone; when he says that it's better that way.

"I could leave," she offers him, her bright pink eyes holding steady with his. She tilts her antlered head, produces another almost impish smile, and extends to him, "or I could tell you why I feel like I should be alone as well, and you can decide if I'm more terrible than you are."

Aislyn

she set fire to all the things that held her back
and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was

She hated to admit that she has grown selfish in the last few years. It was not always apparent, considering she spent most of her time alone – it was easy to not think of anyone besides yourself when that was all you allowed yourself to have. But she could see it now, as it’s laid so plainly before her when she looks at this man that keeps hinting at wanting to be left alone, and she refuses to grant him such a thing.

She is selfish, and she is lonely, and it is a toxic combination.

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” she says with a laugh, and there is a moment where the hardness in her eyes softens. It made her miss being herself, if she could ever remember who that was, exactly. It makes her lower her head from the instinctively guarded stance she was often in, a smile still lingering on her dark lips when she adds, “Actually so far you’re pretty adequate company.”

Some of the sharpness returns when he says not everything has to be a challenge. She wants to ask him what that must be like, to grow up without continually feeling like you needed to prove yourself, and she wonders why she grew up like that. It wasn’t as if her parents cared. Her mother loved Aislyn (and all of her children) regardless of anything. Her father at least acknowledged her existence, which was more than most of her half-siblings could claim. It was an internal pressure she had decided to put on herself, and she couldn’t seem to shed it. “Well, where’s the fun in that?” Is what she says instead, that same faint smile still curved on her lips.

“I rarely lose anything,” she continues, a single ear flicking back at the thunder’s sound rumbling in the distance. “I can go first if you want me to.”

Aislyn

she set fire to all the things that held her back
and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was

She can see the way that he tenses and fidgets, and instead of backing off it makes her want to press further. She has gotten so good, it seems, at sabotaging friendships – potential, or already existing. She knows that she should soften herself, knows that if she stepped away from friction rather than pushing against it that maybe she would be more likable.

Instead, she tilts her head at the way he adjusts his wings and presses his lips together, and for a moment she is quiet in what appears to be thought after he invites her to speak.

“Well,” she says as she steps forward, continuing to ignore his unease and carrying on the conversation lightly. “I have always had a seemingly insatiable thirst for adventure. And for a long time it seemed like it always found me, even if I wasn’t looking for it.” She assumes that he knows the way of Beqanna, how sometimes the mountain and the magic reached out – sometimes inviting, sometimes demanding. “I didn’t really think anything of it when it called me again. It sent us to the plains – are you familiar with that place? – and we had to fight.”

Beneath her splashed skin her muscles twitch and grow taut. Not even she herself can discern if it is from excitement at the memory – a longing for another batter– or anxiety bred with regret.

“I fought my friend – my only friend – and even though I knew it wasn’t really him, even though I knew it was just some twisted illusion, I was surprised at how quickly I was willing to hurt him.” She remembers how attacking him had been instinctual, how she had gone for him before her mind even registered that it was not really Voracious. The feel of their antlers locking – her antlers, a gift from the plains – still echoes in her mind. “And then after him, I was paired against a version of myself.” A pause, as she thinks back on that strange, mirror-image of herself. The same oddly patterned coat, and vibrantly pink eyes. “And I killed her.”

Her face is marred into a thoughtful frown, before her eyes level with his once more. “It’s a terrible thing to learn about yourself, that you will hurt just about anyone if the right situation arises.”

A careless, empty smile lifts at the corner of her dark mouth, angling her antlered head upwards at him. “Your turn.”

Aislyn

she set fire to all the things that held her back
and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was