Brinly
Though it wasn’t her intention, she cannot be surprised when he responds by lashing out at her. It, regrettably, seemed to be the norm for them, and while there is still a part of her that wants to rise to meet his storm with one of her own, for once, she does not.
“I am not the source of your anger,” she responds tersely to his accusation, surprised at how level she keeps her voice despite the way the tension is still brewing beneath her skin. Her dark eyes are unusually calm, though not in a way that suggests she is in any way serene or passive, though she is sure he knows that by now. “No more than you could be the source for mine.”
She had not been born irascible; she had once been quiet and composed, and easily concealed any ill feelings she might have had. Where now she seemed to always be a spark away from becoming a wildfire, there had been a time when someone like Brigade would never have managed to aggravate her.
She is surprised to find remnants of that young girl amongst the ash and embers she is now; how instead of succumbing to the flames and the anger she manages to meet him with a hardened and almost impassive stare. “I don’t hate you, you know,” she says, even though he hadn’t asked and likely didn’t care. “But if you hate me you can just say so,” and while a few minutes ago she might have said this as a challenge or a dare to see how far she could push him there is instead only a dull kind of indifference, as if she has already resigned herself to the truth. He doesn't have a reason to hate her, not a real one, but she couldn't blame him if he found one.
She cannot control the flames that flicker across her skin, but it is as if they have begun to extinguish themselves all the same as she closes herself off, shuttering herself out of reach of his sure to be scathing reply.
— if i’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too —
@brigade