she learned a lesson back there in the flames; pentecost

[Cordis]

She sees her face everywhere.
It’s a byproduct, of grief – seeing what’s not there, her name writ in the sky, her face in the water, muddled.
(She’d once said come back, come back for me, and she had. She had.)
Her one comfort is her lightning, now restored, she walks and her skin crackles. She is a prison, self-made, she is beautiful and terrible and untouchable, and it is the way she likes to be. She is a magician once more, but she’d give up every iota of power just to see Spyndle’s face again.

A flash of silver catches her eye, which surprises her – though the horses here are many colors, silver is less common, especially this particular kind, like tarnished metal. She looks, and sees other colors, too, purple smeared on silver. She is about to turn away when the figure shifts, and she catches a glimpse of his face.
Her face. His - HIS - face.
She cries out, unwittingly, at the way their features have combined.

She goes to the boy. There was no other option. She goes to him even as he r heart sinks. She prays she is mistaken, that is was a trick of the light, but the closer she gets he more he looks like them – the best things of her life, and the worst.
“Excuse me,” she says, voice thick, disused, “but you…”
You look like me. Like her. Like Him.
“You look familiar.”

I’ll touch you all and make damn sure

Cordis

that no one touches me