Desolation comes upon the sky // Any

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

He followed her as faithfully as her shadow, despite her best efforts to be rid of him. 

Perhaps she ought to have expected as much considering the boy's youthfulness, considering that he was not weaned, considering that despite all the times she nearly burnt him with her flames or sent herself cloaked into twilight into the night, he still begged for her love and attention. Perhaps she should not have run away from his newborn figure those months ago in the night, and perhaps Brennen and Shahrizai should have apprehended the child instead of allowing her to keep it. After all, magician Brennen would have at least had the capacity to know that something would go wrong; it's just that Scorch managed to make sure that everything went wrong.

It was her strong suit, and right now, even she wouldn't deny it despite her usual tendency to find a reason to defend any of her poor qualities, against her better judgement. In years prior, during the time when she had been entrusted with Nerine after Hestia's disappearance, she would have had more wisdom in this situation than she does now; but she's fucked everything over worse than could possibly be remedied in the time that she would be Arctyrus' mother.

As such, the two meander down the length of the river, the boy obediently staying far enough behind her that she could almost pretend like she was alone. Indeed, were she to come across anyone, she would act as such; and if they had a problem with it, then she certainly had the means to address their concerns. Fire, light, and shadow would all come to her aid; she didn't need anyone coming and pointing out her short comings today.

But of course, they were glaringly obvious - so it's not like anyone would come along to comment on anything else besides how shitty she is at literally everything right now.

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

"" come hug the self loathing rat of despair plz.

[Ilma]

Ilma

And there's a lesson waiting to be learned
the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl

Flying westwards is always interesting these days. She wouldn’t admit that she above-average liked the Tephran leader, of course, but still, he never disappointed. She can’t always bother him though; lots of people call on him, as much almost as are in the Cove, or if she counts herself perhaps even more. But he never complaints, and her social visit has perhaps even been a more welcome break.

The river is where she ends up today - not because of any particular reason other than, perhaps, memories of days past. She brought her daughter here once - met Sabra although the mare didn’t seem to remember much of all that, later on. Finding her in Nerine birthing a child she didn’t want; a situation far too familiar. Castile had not acted as he should, there and then - she hoped he learned from it but somehow doubts it, considering his temper.

In that aspect, Scorch might call herself lucky, but yes, you’re right that she definitely needs a mirror.

She grazes on some of the grass near the water; watching the stream she wonders about her recent quests to help heal, one with a jewel and once to the safe land. Trying had never been enough, in both occassions. She looks a little different than before, though she cannot pinpoint how exactly. First she had thought her mind was playing tricks on her, or the Cove’s light. But here in the river water, again it is the same. As if she’s still inside the dream.

She shakes her head and takes a drink, breaks the spell of reflection. The mooncoloured mare lifts her head, just as another mare rounds the corner - and then a foal. She blinks at them as if they perhaps aren’t real either. Last time she saw a bald mare was when she left her daughter in Nerine’s care.

But that mare had been warm and caring, and this colt doeslook like he doesn’t want to disturb his mother.

She steps forward. Nods to the mare, then greets the boy. Perhaps giving the mare a taste of her own medicine, although many mares would probably adore the foal first. ”Hello there. What’s your name?” Her voice soft and warm as always (exceptions might be the raw edges she gets when she’s really angry with someone, but she’s not angry with the boy).

and shooting stars cannot fix the world

@[Scorch] She demanded it. Sorry not sorry