even a n g e l s fall

There were shadows, dark, inky tendrils that wove about my limbs, caressed my body with the filigree of velvet dark. There were the trees, their course umbra dense and unattainable; only through perseverance could one navigate the chamber's pines. Now, now there was burning, Crimson and orange flame. Both in the boughs, and now, very much a shifting across the loam, a dazzle of flame.

My son had told me if the new arrival, the burning man, the man of fire and of flame. Vercingetorix had said he was interesting, and yet strangely alluring. I briefly saw him at the meeting, one could not miss the burning. And I quite thought the scent of ash and fire had abandoned the chamber; yet now with the burning tree and a new arrival, I don't think my golden coat will retain the luminous lustre again.

I see him, through the break in the pines; his flame translucent against the shadow, sapphire eyes quietly observe, a smooth smirk delicately twisting on my lips. He was indeed a sight, an allure all on his own. I allowed my golden form to shift, enticingly weaving about the pines, as I break out from the darkness, aglow of gilt and cream.

'I see that the rumour is true, the Chamber has her own burning man.' my tone is darkly delightful, smooth like lace and velvet. Weaving my own dark magic with a silver tongue.

'Does this burning man have a name?' I ask, tone lilting and sultry. My silvery son had failed in that department, he had much to learn in the ways of silver and gold. Though I am quite certain the young lad will carry on his fathers hoof prints.

'I am Engelsfors.' smoothly my creamy tresses dance across my neck as I elegantly weave a path around the fiery man, sapphire eyes roaming his frame, a close scrutiny. 'Does it hurt at all. The flame?' because questions meant learning, questions meant answers. And answers were power.

engelsfors

even a n g e l s fall

There is much about the chamber that spins an alluring spell. The way the inky shadows drape around, like s fine filigree against my good skin. The way the forgotten ash marks the ground, scarred with memories we least forget. Memories of pain, of something quite unforgettable indeed. I can only reminisce alongside the thrum of Atrox's heart. The way the gentle thud kills me to sleep (if only for a few hours, for I was a nocturnal creature, and a creature that thrives on little or no sleep.) the way it acts like some ticking clock, making few remember that there is an end, and a beginning.

Fire is so unlike shadow, it flickers and roars, dulls and ignites. Fire burns in and around, with both passion and rage. Kushiel, he piques interest like the flames flicker and glow orange. My words are charm and poise. gentle yet course. 'My son was quite intrigued by your.. Uniqueness. And he tells me quite a lot.' I pause here and add with a smooth chuckle, 'But you cannot escape the Ravens, they seem concerned that their home will burn. But you are not foolish as to burn something down that opens arms to you... You do not seem like such. But as always appearances are deceiving.'

I listen, lobes flickering atop my crown. 'I expect that every once in a while, a good singe never harmed..' the chuckle that slips my lips is both allure and whimsy. 'Ah, it would not be long. As they say, there are eyes and ears everywhere. And I do not let a mere stranger this close to the heart of my home.' I watch him, sapphire eyes glistening against the shadows and light, burning against the flicker of his flame.

'Why are you here, Kushiel? Everyone has reasons. What is yours?' black magic and silvery words are woven from my lips like masterful hands knitting tapestry. I stalk forward and around, long, willowy limbs slinking against the loam. Sloping shoulders rolling with each purposeful and graceful stride.

'Power, meaning, lust... There are wants and there are sins and mostly, they are often the same...'

engelsfors

even a n g e l s fall

My son is the moon, the stars and the sun. To me, he is perfect. He was born of earth and of gold, of silver and of steel. Vercingetorix was my everything and he will be everything. I whispered the secrets of all that I know in his ear as a babe, resting his head against my side. Whilst Killdare would tell him of warrior tales, I would soothe his young head to sleep. He was much older, too old for that now. I would see him flitting around the chamber, his eyes burning as bright as the flaming tree. Oh, he had such promise and it swelled my insides with pride when others spoke of him. After all, when you have created something, there is that ounce of pride that radiates from you.

Kushiel was a mystery. He seemed bright, as passionate and as fiery as the flame he dons, and yet, yet beyond the steel of his coat, he was something else entirely. I listen, as always, with attuned ears and a silent tongue. I listen until he stops and his grin matches the burning in his eyes. 'I believe that the chamber has suffered enough burns, to last her lifetime.' my tone is wistful as it is woven magic. Cool, crisp. I steadily parade about him, all gold and cream, all gossamer threads bouncing against my strong, yet lithe neck. Sapphire eyes like gemstones, finely polished like the silver of my tongue, they watch him with as much intensity as I study the fire in the boughs. 'Ah, if there is mud in her veins and fire in yours, I can see why you are here and not there.' I pause then, twiddling ears gently shifting, lost within the creamy mounds of mane. 'The Chamber is of ash and of ruin. Of earth and of flame. We burn bright against the shadows, and if you ask anyone else, they will say the same. The Chamber is a force, all of her own and she has a strange way of... claiming individuals.' my words slip like delicate lace, folded over and over again. A brilliant seamstress that wields the black magic like silk and satin.

'We are all honest here, Kushiel. And I, I have no time for liars.' my voice is silken smooth as I drape myself around, limbs loose and limber as they stalk a want circle about the burning boy. Tilting my head in such a way, my sapphire eyes linger on parts of him more than others, but not so much as interested in anything else, bar the flame. It glows, it flickers, truly alive. I chuckle then, such a smooth sound. An angelic face, cherubic and soft, but as my mother, my father and any in my past had found out, even angels do fall. 'We are all stripped down to the core here, dear Kushiel. The Chamber finds your wick and burns you, right to your very beating heart... She knows if you are not as true as you think or say. But you, oh you, you are as honest as the moon in the sky and the stars that prick the night.' I had given my heart, lost it to part the Chamber and part Killdare. He is my earth, the shadow that drapes me at night and the sunlight that warms me in the day. I do not question anything with him and he, he should never question anything with me. This, this boy, Kushiel. the burning one. He piques my interest like some new toy, and I have not played with none for quite some time now. The feel quite tempts my fancy. 'Oh, and I appreciate honesty, so very much.'

engelsfors