i'm the only one who'll walk across a fire for you. || warrick

[Ellyse]

Ellyse

I'm the only one who will walk across a fire for you.

it's only fear that makes you run, the demons that you're hiding from.

 The hours eventually faded into days, which inevitably seeped into months. As autumn had become cold and still with winter’s grasp, soon winter fell at the hand of spring, warm and tender as its tepid heat finally penetrated the darkness that had long ago settled into the deepest crooks and bends of the forest. And when a single ray of sunlight finally reaches the plane of her cheek (where too many tears had been shed and dried, though her pallid complexion hid the salty stains from the naked eye), she is roused from her proverbial slumber, blinking away the haze that had fallen over her.

   With a low, rumbling sigh, she draws herself away from the solitude she had permitted to take presence in her very bones – enough time had gone by, she decided, and enough time had been wasted. Though her heart still ached for what could not be, the thought of Magnus no longer caused her anguish (he had been so much to her; meant so much to her - he always would) - and the thought of Warrick's lips across her cheek no longer stirred guilt (but perhaps something more dangerous, stirring within the pit of her belly, even now). Her mind had not been well when she found solace in the silence and isolation; the once fortified threads that held her together had become weak, worn and threadbare – but time had its way of mending all things.

   Except, perhaps, her deeply bruised ego.

   No longer did she serve beneath Magnus, or even Lucrezia – rather, her title had little meaning now, working instead beneath a heavily scarred, wartorn behemoth wrought with fire and some deeply-hidden anguish lurking beneath an otherwise stoic surface. Her title was meaningless now, and she was frustrated, feeling the tender roots she had so carefully preened and nurtured torn apart from the volcanic, rich soil of what she had come to know as her own. Too much change, she thought to herself, growing weary of the constant shifting of power – and something had long since settled into the marrow of her bones, leaving her uneasy, and anxious about who and what had taken the helm.

   Her mind drifted often to that day, but not because of the falling of one Queen and the rise of a King, but rather, because of the distant, terse look in eyes that had once looked upon her warmly. Because of the tension, and ire gently laced with each carefully spoken, agitated syllable. She had ignored him, looking briefly to him before allowing her mind to drift away, deliberately willing her attention elsewhere – he deserved so much more than the broken, fragmented pieces that had been left behind in the wake of heartbreak, even on a platonic level.

   Still, she pined for him – she was not sure if it had been the brief, fleeting touch of his lips, or simply a longing for familiarity, for friendship, but she often wondered what would have happened if she had stayed - what would have happened if she had simply spoken to him as an equal; if she had sought more from him and from his quiet, somber past? What would have happened if she had never left his side? Though a part of her mind ached to know, she knew, deep inside, nothing good would have ever come of it.

   She had been a broken thing, shattered somewhere deep inside, and her mind had been unclear – hazy with melancholy, dejected thoughts – wholly unhealthy. You deserve so much more, she had told him, and she meant every word of it. She could only hope that somehow, some way, he would come to understand her meaning, but if his cold shoulder were any indication, he hadn’t understood at all.

   Alas, it is as the warm summer sun sets behind the distant, hazy horizon that she emerges from the embrace of the thicket, as her broad, pale wings extend to each side to savor the light breeze of evenfall touch her finely preened feathers. Enough, she had told herself, you cannot hide forever, and so her slender, yet heavily muscled legs carry her to the east – to where the distant shadow of a rumbling volcano bathes beneath the waning light of day, to home.

   But tucked away beneath the darkness of a shapely willow, with its tendrils of draping branches swaying to and fro across the slope of his spine, he remains – his dark eyes settled elsewhere, searching far beyond where the boundaries of Tephra lie. Her own gold-flecked gaze watches carefully as her pace quickens to him, her heart pounding vigorously within its cage, thumping rhythmically inside of her chest. His features, handsome, solid, and as deep as the midnight blue of the night sky, draw her near with the familiar comfort of his presence – but she hesitates, her cheek slightly tilted with her pale tresses covering one eye, before stretching out the slender length of her neck towards him.

   Wanting. 

   ”Warrick,” she murmurs, uncertain of what to say – or how to say it. 

   I’m sorry, she doesn’t say, not yet, though she wants to.

when all your promises are gone, I'm the only one.

@[Warrick]