[FE9] Let The Flames
Oct. 31st, 2008 09:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runespoorTitle: Let The Flames
Summary: There's a spirit, and there's a girl, and there's a choice that must be made.
Rating: PG
Game: FE9
Notes: written for Challenge 2 - Choices at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fe_drabble. Still not sure it was okay for me to post it. :/
When she finally found the spirit, it had burned down to almost nothing, flimsier than the candle lights she'd blow out before going to bed. It was barely more than glowing ashes and for a moment she thought she was mistaken, it was nothing more than the mere fading embers of a forest fire.
Would you help me, child?
It spoke not with words nor even in the older language of magic whispered, but as a warm humming in her mind. It flickered to life when she drew a breath.
I could help you.
Frail and fragile, tendrils of flame rose from the charred coals, in curls fleeting and graceful like the corners of her lips.
Would you want me to help you?
It was dying. It had already eaten the life out of the forest, and now it was famished, weak and ready to be erased like a mistake or an afterthought.
I have helped people.
Warmth against her cheek. She had the power to help it; she knew she had, and easily. The fire tome in her bag, her favorite; and, dwarfing it, the constant burning in her soul.
She was yearning for more; the spirit knew yearning. It had been born out of it, had been sung and screamed and acclaimed, coalesced into being. It had soared, with its brothers and sisters, through thousands of chests, and made the night blaze brighter than any day. It knew what she wanted, and it was willing to give it to her. It liked the beorc. They had birthed and nourished him. They were beings that wanted, and she wanted stronger than any of them.
It wanted to help her.
The girl didn't quite recoil when the spirit's fire grew too hot for a human to bear.
She leaned away from the spirit, her fingers closing around her lightning tome. She was a girl of twelve, she liked books and boys and the crackling at the end of her fingertips when she cast a spell.
I could make them dance when you snap your fingers.
She was pretty, blond, proud.
I could make you beautiful.
Her mother was a farm girl. Her father was no-one.
I could make him nothing.
She had taught herself magic and called fire her own. The books, she had read them all, and the boys, they had shunned her all, and the flames—
They could not be smothered forever.
She wanted to see the city.
I could give you the city.
“And what,” Calill asked, “would I give you?”
The spirit answered with the image of flames.
She did not run. She waited next to the spirit, her heart between icy claws, until its last flutter of smoke. Only when she was sure it was gone did she stand up, shaking the soot off her skirt.
There wasn't a sound in Serenes when she walked away, except for her footsteps crunching over blackened remains.
Summary: There's a spirit, and there's a girl, and there's a choice that must be made.
Rating: PG
Game: FE9
Notes: written for Challenge 2 - Choices at
fe_drabble. Still not sure it was okay for me to post it. :/When she finally found the spirit, it had burned down to almost nothing, flimsier than the candle lights she'd blow out before going to bed. It was barely more than glowing ashes and for a moment she thought she was mistaken, it was nothing more than the mere fading embers of a forest fire.
Would you help me, child?
It spoke not with words nor even in the older language of magic whispered, but as a warm humming in her mind. It flickered to life when she drew a breath.
I could help you.
Frail and fragile, tendrils of flame rose from the charred coals, in curls fleeting and graceful like the corners of her lips.
Would you want me to help you?
It was dying. It had already eaten the life out of the forest, and now it was famished, weak and ready to be erased like a mistake or an afterthought.
I have helped people.
Warmth against her cheek. She had the power to help it; she knew she had, and easily. The fire tome in her bag, her favorite; and, dwarfing it, the constant burning in her soul.
She was yearning for more; the spirit knew yearning. It had been born out of it, had been sung and screamed and acclaimed, coalesced into being. It had soared, with its brothers and sisters, through thousands of chests, and made the night blaze brighter than any day. It knew what she wanted, and it was willing to give it to her. It liked the beorc. They had birthed and nourished him. They were beings that wanted, and she wanted stronger than any of them.
It wanted to help her.
The girl didn't quite recoil when the spirit's fire grew too hot for a human to bear.
She leaned away from the spirit, her fingers closing around her lightning tome. She was a girl of twelve, she liked books and boys and the crackling at the end of her fingertips when she cast a spell.
I could make them dance when you snap your fingers.
She was pretty, blond, proud.
I could make you beautiful.
Her mother was a farm girl. Her father was no-one.
I could make him nothing.
She had taught herself magic and called fire her own. The books, she had read them all, and the boys, they had shunned her all, and the flames—
They could not be smothered forever.
She wanted to see the city.
I could give you the city.
“And what,” Calill asked, “would I give you?”
The spirit answered with the image of flames.
She did not run. She waited next to the spirit, her heart between icy claws, until its last flutter of smoke. Only when she was sure it was gone did she stand up, shaking the soot off her skirt.
There wasn't a sound in Serenes when she walked away, except for her footsteps crunching over blackened remains.
