Back, but back where? There is no home, no love to be had or to be welcomed to. Sinder has no one, nothing. Since leaving the Desert he has been as fickle as the wind, nosing this way and that in his silence.
Children? There is one somewhere in Beqanna that he created with Noori.
(That bitch)
She was a whore.
(She toyed with you)
But I fucked her in the end.
The mother of spring dawns on his mind and he remembers their years together. There had been a connection, but it was more lust and possessiveness than anything else. Sinder, so quiet and stone-like, has never felt a need for love. As a child he watched it destroy his family and rip them apart. He saw as it sucked the final breath out of his father. It's more catastrophic than joyful, more unnecessary than needed. At such a young age Sinder swore it off and told himself to never be so weak as to fall in love.
(What is it you always say?)
Love does not exist.
(That's right. You keep telling yourself that)
Noori's memory is quickly dissolving as his eyes open to see the meadow. He wants to know someone, to recognize anything at all, but in the pit of his stomach he realizes that Smolder is gone. The twin that he had latched so tightly onto has slipped from him in the mere blink of an eye. Her face still rings in his memory but so does the putrid stench of the stallions that she frequented with. They didn't deserve her (no one did, only Sinder) and yet she bathed in their attention constantly. She must have wanted to be loved, to be adored, because her twin wasn't enough. He wanted her to himself (never to fuck, but to protect, to hold) but life was throwing rocks. Obstacles became too great and with a resonating sigh Sinder's grip of his twin released and he was truly alone.
Life wanted to remind him that he couldn't love her, that he couldn't love anyone or anything.
Alone, forever alone, but never lonely.
(No, never lonely)
all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash
Before Oxytocin had come along, Kindling had a different lover. A man hailing from the Chamber; Kindling’s original home. They had loved each other deeply (at least, he had loved her while she lusted after her father) and had ended up producing twins, a girl and a boy. Cress had heard the tales from many different mouths and knows them well. The couple had grown apart after their twins birth and Kindling’s subsequent turn to Oxytocin and she ended up leaving the Valley throne due to her conflicting feelings, leaving her young (for Smolder was hardly a year old) daughter on the throne after her.
Not much is known about their son, Cress was disappointed to discover. She wanted to know as much about her siblings as possible—where they are now, what happened to them, if they have any children of their own—but she has hit so many dead ends. Davorin, her brother and once the Heir Apparent to the Valley throne, is gone. Smolder had taken the throne only for three short years before leaving Oxytocin on it alone and she hasn’t been seen around much since. Of Cress’s older brother she knows very little of. At the present she cannot even remember his name. Something to do with fire. All of them had something to do with fire.
Kinda funny how Cress was the one with a somewhat normal name and she is the one who ended up wielding flames.
She is away from the Valley once more, nerves about her promotion getting the best of her (as always). Why is it that every time a new monarch takes over, they feel the need to promote her? She has done nothing to earn the position of councilor but here she is, one of the three councilors of the Valley. Not a position she asked for and not exactly a position that she wants. It gives the broken girl too much responsibility. She had pledged her life to her kingdom, but come on, guys.
Her mindless wandering takes her to the meadow and she can feel the loneliness (though he tries so very hard to mask it) radiating from the bay and white stallion long before she can see him. Curious, she follows the empathetic wave right to him, head tipping curiously to the side as she approaches him. He doesn’t want to be lonely, she can tell, but here he is, alone as can be. “Are you quite alright?” she asks as she approaches, hoping he doesn’t mind the ugly, burned stumps where her ears had once been (she’ll always be self-conscious about this, she cannot help herself).
There is something about him (the line of his jaw, the roundness of his hindquarters) that gives her pause and she studies him harder, making quick note of the similarities. Could it be…? “You look like her,” she says quietly, almost to herself. “Like Kindling.”
After a moment her eyes widen and she laughs nervously. So what if he looks like her Not-Mother. Maybe she whored around once upon a time. Maybe… maybe he’s her long-lost brother. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? “I forget my manners. My name is Cress.”
(How bold you are, sweet girl)
Family is always important, no?
(It used to be. Not anymore)
Torn family. Fucked up family. That's what we are.
He sees her, smells her, and almost reaches out to touch her. There is a resemblance in her chiseled face that reminds him so much of mother, of Smolder. A wave of uncertainty - or is it disgust - rattles through him as his empty eyes drunkenly stare. Her eyes, her face, the way she moves; it's all so familiar and yet foreign all at once. Sinder turns slowly to face her as she lessens the space between them, step by slow step. Are you quite alright, she asks, and he nearly laughs. He has been convincing himself that he is alright but there is a lingering pit inside him that is a reminder of losing what family he had.
Smolder.
(She left like mother)
She left like everyone else had.
The woven muscles of his jaws clench, dancing beneath his skin as he still mulls her question over and over. There was one thing - one person - he always tried to keep near and she is what slipped between his fingers into oblivion. Unable to speak Sinder simply expels a snort, blinks, and looks away thoughtfully. The cool touch of the breeze fingers through his mane as a part of him tries to disregard the girl, but he can't. Something about her is pulling him in, bringing him a step nearer despite his subconscious reluctance.
There is no other way to communicate.
(She's the bastard child)
She's related.
(Through a fucked up, abandoning mother)
When they touch it isn't with the tenderness of family. Sinder has never - will never - be gentle. His teeth grope for her neck to pull her closer to him. There is likely a moment of struggle which he braces for (as Smolder always unintentionally taught him to do) but once there is enough settlement his lips find the arch of her neck. "Ss..d..." air is expelled past his lips and clamped teeth to make the simplest of noises, trying to add depth when he tries lipping his name into the warmth of her skin. He hopes she grasps it and latches onto the hiss of air that is his voice but whether she does or does not he is already withdrawing. His hooded eyes find Cress' eyes as he cringes away from the memory of his mother while her name hangs idly in the space between them.
