"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped
He has spent time ensconced in shadow.
Learning how to live with the things he has learned about himself.
He has thought about the ire of the stallion in the forest, how he had demanded to know what Isakov was. They had spoken of stars and all of the things stars are capable of, the casual cruelty that came so naturally to them.
He has thought about the girl, too, and the heat of the fire she had ringed around them. How it had licked at his heels and he had felt a pulse of something in his throat (something, something, he had not known if it was fear or intrigue or if there was a difference between the two). How he had guessed that she loved the fire and how there had been some impulse in him to fashion himself after the flames, to turn himself into fire, too.
He still does not understand it, this dark thing in his chest, but he has learned how to live with it. He has learned that the thing he sees shimmering at their centers is the thing they love and he has learned that he is capable of letting it shape him. But he does not know why.
Finally, he has emerged.
And, as if he has divined her simply by thinking of her, he catches sight of her through the trees. As if he has wished her into existence. And he smiles something secret as he moves toward her and relaxes into the magic that consumes him. He does not resist it.
So when he reaches her, not far from the place where he’d first seen her, there are flames dancing across his skin. Flames licking up his sides, curling their vibrant fingers through his hair. But they are merely an illusion. Were she to get close enough, she would find that they lack in heat. They do not burn because they are not there at all. They exist only because the fire is what she loves.
“Sunlight,” he murmurs, a low greeting, a slanted smile tying up the corners of his mouth. And then the flames wink out and they are plunged into darkness.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he tells her and feels no shame for having admitted it.
12-20-2020, 08:58 PM (This post was last modified: 12-20-2020, 09:26 PM by Sunlight.)
Try as she might, the tri-colored girl (woman, she would protest) found herself thinking idly about that galaxy-strewn boy from her adventures in the forest. There had been others who had interested her: a boy who could control the lava within the volcano’s birth, the painted-faced stallion who had challenged her, even her sisters kept her busy with their constant prattle. But despite all this, there were more nights that she would like to admit where she thought of Isakov and wondered if he still ached for the same intensity that she had felt that one dark night long ago.
It is why she leaves Tephra (though she’d never admit it, of course). She leaves because she is bored and, unfortunately, part of that was true. A new King had taken succession and Sunlight had been privy to different thoughts of his role; but nothing was fun, it was all idle and boring and dull. Nothing interesting was happening in the volcanic land, not even on Islandres or the accompanying territories. Nothing to soothe the ache in her soul, the need for flame and spark and excitement.
She had only ever felt that intensity with him and in a desperate attempt to relive those moments, she arrives to the forest with no light to guide her.
This time, she will not be a beacon.
This time, he ensures that she is not.
She is unaware that she has been spotted by him already. She is encased in darkness, picking through the forest carefully and almost stubbornly. She could easily light her path with a single thought but she refuses. Where would the excitement be, then? Sunlight is glad she does not give in to the burning of flame within her chest for, within moments, she is consumed by a fire that is not her own.
Her deep, golden eyes fall across the flames with such affection, a soft sigh erupts from her mouth.
She does not hesitate - does she ever? - to come close to the flaming stallion, drawn to his light and the way it snakes up his body hungrily as she imagines her own fire would do. With a deep inhale she suppresses the inclination, simmering her fire into a gentle ember within herself, swallowing it so that she may rest her golden gaze on his beautiful body even longer. Her name passes his lips and her eyes flutter in delight.
Without a thought, she murmurs: “Isakov?”
Her voice is robust and tinged with smoke, sultry in the deep darkness of night that suddenly consumes them as he douses his ever-enchanting flame. She had wanted to touch it, to mold it beneath her power, but hadn’t the chance to. She tsks softly, but does not stop her forward motion; there is something about him that she could not resist before and when he likened himself to her flame, she realized the reason why. She comes so close to him that her mouth is at his jawline, tracing the sharpness of it with tender, wistful movements with her lips; even in darkness, she is sure he can feel the smile she plants on his galaxy and ivory skin.
“It shows,” she whispers to him, even though they are submerged in darkness. She is grinning heatedly into his neck, her eyes adjusting to the deep shadow of the wood around them.
“Where did you learn such a trick?” she pauses, curious and almost needing to see it again, “Was it just for me?”
throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped
He does not think himself transparent, Isakov.
He has never been particularly forthright about his thoughts or his feelings or the emotions that do not seem to belong to him but fester in the marrow of his bones regardless.
But he has no reason to lie.
He has thought about her and how thrilling it had been to think that she could destroy him should he let her. How she could destroy him even if (or maybe especially if) he objected. That thing he’d felt in the cage of his chest when the heat of her flames had bent toward him that could have been fear or intrigue or some form of the two of them combined had left a lasting impression. He can feel it still in his ribs and it flares when she comes close.
When she touches him without hesitation.
When the heart throbs and spasms in response.
This is such a dangerous place to be, he thinks, but there is nowhere else he’d rather be in this moment. Nowhere else he’d rather be than right here with her mouth tracing the sharp line of his jaw, with her mouth pressing a smile into the plains of his neck.
There is something electric about the darkness that presses in around them and he exhales a sigh, one corner of his mouth tied up in a slanted smile. He does not touch her in turn, though he wants to. How terribly he wants to! He is afraid of the ways she might burn him.
He cannot explain where he learned it because he cannot explain what it is he sees in them. This is a secret he keeps locked in his chest rather than in his mind, so even if she were to go looking for it she would not find it. This is his secret alone. “It was just for you,” he murmurs in response and does not move to wedge any space between them before he calls upon the magic again. Shrugs it on like a second skin so that the false flames dance down the length of his spine and collect in the place where she last touched him.
“There was no fire without you, so I had to create my own.”
The fire she wields so expertly flares wildly in her chest - brought on by the darkness they bathe in and Isakov’s closeness. She’s never known resistance, never thought to do anything less than she wanted. At this moment, she wanted Isakov - with his tricks (ones that he kept veiled from her, hidden from her) and all. She allows him this and perhaps it is the excitement of not knowing that she does so. What is it that causes him to be such a force; one that beckons her forth in the middle of the night, far from her sisters and the watchful eye of their father? The mystery captures her wholeheartedly, perhaps even more so than the fire that had just been dancing across his muscled chest.
He is careful with her, the young woman can tell in the way he does not return her heated touches. Isakov doesn’t move away from her, though. She would easily trap him if he attempted to, but a softer part of her likes to think he wouldn’t run from her because he didn’t want to - he had been looking for her, after all. She smolders beneath him still, however, despite his resistance to bringing his lips to her own obsidian and gold skin. Even with his mystery and his version of flame, he still finds her unpredictable. Sunlight grins at the thought, finding it delectable and empowering.
Of course it was just for her, she echoes to herself when he tells her what she already knows. Who else burns as brightly as she does? Her sisters, perhaps, but she doubts he has come across them - she is not sure he would survive the three of them all at once. Sunlight hums with satisfaction against his throat, wondering if he can feel the heat that begins to burn within her very skin as she orders her fire to remain within.
Her golden eyes widen as the brightness of his own flames come to life across his skin, a soft gasp - warm and breathless - into his neck before pulling her face away to admire the colors. Is this what she looks like, she wonders? Wrapped up in dancing flames, bright and fierce and wonderful? She touches the flames without a thought as they filter across his skin, only warmed by his blood alone. It is not the same as her fire but it is a solid attempt at its recreation and it pleases her wholeheartedly - a gesture (a power) that she greatly appreciates.
“Didn’t your mother tell you not to play with fire?” Her voice is playful while her eyes never waver from the false flames that flicker hungrily across him. A few moments more she admires his illusion before her golden eyes click to his with a mischievous smirk on her lips. “Well, I’m here now.” The dark mare closes the space between them in a single step (knowing he wouldn’t dare back away from her, not that he would want to) so that she can press her lips across the myriad of colors that follow wherever her mouth traces. Unsatisfied with the amount of heat it produces, a tiny and slender flame erupts from where her mouth meets his skin, and in the same moment, she wonders if it is enough to frighten him or will he allow such a sensation? Whatever his reaction, the flame is doused in the same second it is brought forth, her eyes still focused on the playful flames he gives her.
throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped
They are older now than they had been then, which means that the tension that pulses between them is real now. Or, at least, more real than it had been when they were merely children. Children without any understanding of what it meant.
He knows now what it means for the heart to react to her the way it does. He knows now what it means when the muscles shudder and tremble beneath the weight of her roving mouth. He knows now what it means to touch and perhaps this is part of the reason he refrains. Because, though they are older now, these things are still so much bigger than they are.
But she teases him as the false flame dances vibrant across his skin, following her mouth wherever it might roam (wherever it might make him tremble next). He exhales, long and slow, as the corners of his mouth curl up in a sort of rueful smile. No, his mother never thought to warn him about these things. How could she have known the things he would someday encounter? She had not been a bad mother, Desire, but the world is such a terribly big place.
She never could have predicted this.
She is here now. His throat tightens, a vise wrapped around his windpipe, and he nods but does not (cannot?) speak. She is here now and he does not know what to do with her except show her what he’s learned about her, about himself. He does not know what to do with her except try to get her to stay.
He feels the heat like a phantom. It tears a hiss out from between gritted teeth and he turns his head sharply to look her in the face. But there is no accusation in his expression. No, that same smile lingers in the dark corners of his mouth and he finally reaches for her. Skims his teeth across her shoulder but does not bite, does not even try. For the moment, he merely touches her and contents himself with this. Simple, certainly, but still charged with heat.
“Will you destroy me?” he asks, the question murmured into the warmth of her skin, not a request but a query about the future. Will they destroy each other?
Perhaps there is a small part of her that knows what kind of game she is playing - one that lies on the border of their adolescence, swimming in blurred lines and the heat that only encourages her all the more. A larger part of her, however, is relying completely on instinct (and selfishness - the way he adores her, grooms her ego - she can’t resist to beg for more) and her natural want to investigate him further and perhaps in ways she hadn’t been able to when they had last spoken. It feels good to explore, to test him, to use his willingness to be near her to experiment with the fire that blossoms within, both figurative and literal.
He trembles beneath her touch and it delights her, fueling the molten gold of her eyes. There is some semblance of control, a balancing of powers between them and though he bows to her command, she is still not quite sure which of them is following and which is leading. It didn’t matter to her, not really, because she is lost in his magic, beautiful and magnificent but unfathomable.
The reaction to her flame produces a hiss from him and a sharp angle of his head towards her. Sunlight nearly takes a sweeping step back (would he bite her, shove himself away?), but she refrains. Her dark head turns away from his slightly to avoid collision, the expressive primitive markings that outline her eyes giving her an almost playful look as she glances at him beneath dark lashes. Her jaw slackens as the brunt of his teeth scrape across the midnight of her shoulder, almost as if she is shocked by the reaction - a little gasp falling from her parted lips. She rolls the shoulder that tenses beneath his lips, the sensation still lingering with an eerie heat and a thoughtful smile on her mouth. His breath is teasing as he speaks into her skin.
“Perhaps,” she admits smugly, her voice warm and smoky in her throat. “Not tonight,” she adds pensively, stretching her neck to lip at the tendrils of his mane. “Maybe not ever.” An answer, but maybe not quite the one he had been searching for.
The girl falls silent, studying the deep indigo and violet that once held the swirling red and orange of her delightful fire, wondering if she’ll ever have the heart to swallow him up.
throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped
Perhaps.
It sounds like a promise.
It is a balm for his troubled soul.
He is no masochist, but there is some peace in the knowing. Though it is not a promise she can make and she makes that abundantly clear. He swallows the disappointment that swells in his throat and skims his teeth across the surface of her skin again. It is the only logical end when you play with fire, he thinks, absolute destruction. There is some dark thrill in it.
This is where the darkness begins to creep in. It slips soundlessly, almost undetected, into his bloodstream where it will someday infect his heart. It is not the sort of thing he will ever recover from but he has no way of knowing this now. He only stands there and thinks about how easily she had burned him, how she had threatened to set him ablaze the first time they’d met, and he knows they will one day go down in flames.
He cannot imagine anything ever destroying her. She is no fragile thing. She is a force, she who commands fire. But there is some dark thrill in this thought, too. The idea that someday he will break her just as easily as she could break him. He does not want to be a thing that breaks but he will have no choice. He is a thing born from cruelty, a thing disguised as love. The heart is dark and terrible.
He smiles, all teeth, and draws back his head to look her in the eye.
“Do you think me capable?” he asks.
It is not a challenge but a genuine query.
How he longs to be the sort of thing capable of absolute destruction.
It is thrilling - all of it. The fleeting touches between them, the enchantment that seems to swallow them up as the night grows darker, the invitation to destroy him but held back only by perhaps the slimmest fractile of youth and innocence she still clings onto. But her grip is slowly loosening, fueled by him and the way his words are nearly a spell, engulfing her in ways she will be sure never to allow anyone to know.
If anything were to destroy her, it would be only because she herself allowed it.
Even now, amidst the silence and darkness of the forest, she allows him to chip away at the fierce exterior; she burns but it will not singe, though its light still burns just as bright. That youthful innocence keeps part of her malleable, gentle, hopeful - but maybe only for him.
Oh, and when he smiles, she feels as if she might burst into flames.
Capable? She doesn’t respond immediately, her golden eyes content on merely taking him in for a moment, as if contemplating. Sunlight then returns his smile, mischievous and secretive. “Maybe,” she replies honestly, the golden markings above her eyes growing inquisitive and curious. “but it won’t be in the same way I destroy you.” Her eyes flash, shining with embers that spark hungrily.
She would engulf him in flames, singe his flesh until even his bones turned to ash. Isakov, she already knows, plays a different sort of game. One she cannot help but be a part of, turn by turn, each moment spent together sending her further up and further in. A game she cannot resist, that she cannot refuse.
Perhaps they were meant to set each other ablaze only to crumble.
throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped
There is a moment of charged silence.
The kind of silence he could fall headfirst into.
A dark, familiar kind of silence.
And then she smiles and there is a kind of darkness in this, too.
They are older now than they once were. (Mere children then, much too young to make the promises they had made to each other. Much too young to feel the things they had felt.) There is some gravity to the things they say now, some sordid truth. He had not doubted her then but he certainly does not doubt her now.
There is no future for them that does not involve mutual destruction.
He swallows. Watches.
Curious.
He is a thing built for darkness, ruin.
He does not believe there is any room in his heart for happiness, only hurt.
He tilts his head, reaches out to touch her.
He knows how she will destroy him. Baptism by fire. He can see it just as plainly as she can. Bone reduced to ash. He does not possess any magic as powerful as hers. He is nowhere near as dangerous as she is. It will be so easy for her to destroy him and he will go so willingly, such a beautiful martyr.
“How do you think I will destroy you?” he asks, can’t help himself. (Is it vanity that has him asking? Narcissism?) Tell me what you think of me, it asks, tell me who I am to you.
06-06-2021, 09:48 AM (This post was last modified: 06-06-2021, 10:56 AM by Sunlight.)
SUNLIGHT
Perhaps she has always been built for the same thing as him - destruction itself, laying waste to the world and whoever she wishes, with little to no thought to the consequences of doing so. The idea of it creeps twistedly into her mind, like thorny vines or the sensual curve of a snake’s body around her throat. It’s beautiful and enchanting. Though fire does not consume the world yet, it’s home is within her chest, biding its time and strengthening. The fire cares for Isakov (in some sick, fascinating way) however, and her infatuation with the handsome stallion might be the sole reason he survives.
Something within her begs her to relent, to open wide her thoughts and allow him access to each intricate part of her, to allow him to do whatever he pleases with what he finds there. There is a visible shudder down her spine at the thought, those expressive eyes alight with headiness, nearly intoxicated by his closeness and how the warmth of his breath speaks against her skin in such a way that she is sure she could remain beside him forever.
Another part of her, burning and harsh, will not allow her to bend. To answer his question truthfully would be her undoing.
That same intensity of her ember-flecked eyes remains patiently on him, searching the depths of his golden irises for something she would perhaps never find. She smiles lazily with a knowing gaze. How easily he’ll shatter her heart, breaking any piece of her that remains innocent and untouched. He will do it without a thought and she’ll let him.
But she only smiles at him.
“I could only dream about the ways,” comes the breathy reply, tracing the deep cobalt of his jawline with the softness of her lips. She swears the stars on his skin swirl at her touch and once again she is mesmerized by him, unable to stop herself from placing a burning, delicate kiss on his cheek. “You’ll take my heart,” Sunlight murmurs, the sharpness of her eyes uncharacteristically bold against the softness of her voice. “I’ll watch you swallow it whole until there’s nothing but a burning pit in my chest.”
He will break her and whether it be masochism or merely young infatuation, she’ll allow him to do it.
“The real question is - ” Sunlight pauses, tipping her head back slightly to gaze up at him once again, “will you be there to watch me rise from the ashes and incinerate the world?” The smile on her face is vile and dripping with corruption. She hadn’t known what she truly desired, but beneath a dark sky and with Isakov being so near, Sunlight never felt more aligned with a purpose.
