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
advisor of the chamber