i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly
There is little hope left for the little flame. She wanders through the yellow grass of Loess, kicking at the occasional cactus. What pride she has twinkles like the last embers of a fire one forgot to douse, potentially dangerous while dangerously close to disappearing. At least my head is held high, she tells herself, weaving between the trunks of a small copse of trees. Even in her somber mood she is beautiful, long legs ending below a slim and shapely barrel, which rolls into swaying hips and an elegant neck.
For a moment, Brunhilde is terribly self-aware. The stark realization that if someone, anyone, had the foresight to show her that her beauty is not a weapon, she may be content in her solitude; instead, she wields her twinkling eyes like swords and swings her hips to the side like shields. This gives her pause, a quiet stumble upon snapping twigs. She gasps, oh, holding her breath on the feminine noise. The familiar ache to slash through the lustful eyes of another settles sorely in her chest - an itch that she may never be able to scratch.
Butterflies flutter and crowd her face, sending the heat of her repressed anger into her cheeks. She blows a half of a foot of fire into their trajectories, singing their colorful wings into complete ash; still, they are replaced with magic she cannot control, and she wishes not for the first time that she could rid herself of these delicate creatures. Fire burns down her spine and along her mane as she walks, the occasional butterfly flying haplessly into her spite.
When she spots the pretty antlered filly, she recognizes her immediately as the once-prisoner. A vengeful smile begs to curve her lips, thoughts of how her fate is an exact replica of her father’s. Who would have dreamt that daughter of Kagerus and Solace chose to remain within the claws of the East’s once enemy? Certainly not Brunhilde, after the way her father spoke of the past-queens; still, to her delight, she finds the girl alone. Perhaps an opportunity lies within the filly’s reasons for staying.
Brunhilde approaches slowly, allowing her flames to fall to pale simmers. Her golden eyes fall to the shadow that does match its master, a curiosity and quiet lust building in the back of her throat.
“You’re very beautiful,” she murmurs once within earshot, head tilting to the side. “You wear your leopard markings better than your mother.” A bold statement, even if Brun has never seen Kagerus with her own eyes.
and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough
@[Oriash] sorry this took me so long!
