Fyra (First Draft)

Fifteen

Fyra stormed through the hall, leaving chaos in her wake. Half of the people in the ballroom hadn't fully processed what had happened, and people shuffled about in confusion. Some noble ladies screamed and fainted, others just stood, mouths agape.

They had seen her fyre, seen her runes glow. The masking rune wouldn't function when the more powerful anima was in use. Cirian had seen. Somehow the fact that he knew she had lied to him was almost worse than the death that surely lay in her future.

Fyra had caught a brief glimpse of the shock on his face. She didn't stay long enough to see the disgust that would surely follow. The disgust that killed her inside.

The one person who hadn't been fazed by her secrets was only indifferent because he had secrets of his own. Secrets she had only just learned he had, secrets that still needed to be unveiled.

She halted as she saw a shadow lurking in the dark, following her movement down the hall.

Gods help me.

•••

Athan stepped out of the shadows, looking up to see emotions dance across her face like the wind.

Anger, confusion, mistrust, fear.

Pain.

Something that almost looked like hate.

Athan could handle the anger and confusion and the fear, even the agony of knowing that she would never trust him again, but somehow the fact that he had caused her pain was the worst feeling of all.

The way her expression bordered on hatred hit him square in the chest, and regret throbbed through every corner of his being.

He should never have left her.

All he wanted to do was stare at her, let her wild beauty fill the holes in his heart. But he knew he had to explain.

She had to let him explain.

He opened his mouth, ready to pour out his heart and soul, when he heard a snap reverberate through the empty halls. He felt a stinging, almost burning pain across his left cheek as her hand whipped round like the fire in her soul. Angry tears swum in her green eyes and she wiped them away with the hand that had just slapped him.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said weakly, attempting humor.

Fyra's temper had always been volatile. Like a match, it burned brightly, but calmed seconds after lit. His steady humor had usually been enough to calm her.

But it seemed that this attempt at lightness only made everything push heavier on her soul.  Her already cold eyes hardened, and she clenched her fists at her sides, breathing deeply in attempt to leash her growing rage.

He met her gaze, not daring to speak. They softened for a fleeting moment before she turned away.

"Leave me alone." She snapped, turning on her heel. Her heavy steps left footprints of ash in her wake. It was then he realized just how much control it had taken her to hold back her emotion driven magic.

While all magic was driven by emotion, Fyra had always felt everything so deeply. She handled the emotions of others as if they were her own, and the pain of their losses only deepening the wounds that were constantly re-opened. Her empathy only added to her beautifully complex character, but though she wouldn't admit to it, it was yet another burden she shouldn't have to carry.

Athan retracted what he had thought only moments before. What hurt most wasn't the fact that her pain had shattered her again and again.

It was that he couldn't be the one to piece her back together.

•••

You look like you've seen a ghost.

You look like you've seen a ghost.

You look like you've seen a ghost.

His words echoed in her head again and again. She wanted to scream; she wanted to burn down the castle with unrelenting flames. How dare he say that to her after what he put her through.

Seeing his eyes bore into hers was so much worse than seeing him from afar, but looking there, she also knew he would have deceived  her again. The Athan she had known wielded a stubbornness rivaled her own.

She saw the agony in his face, agony in the form of a raging guilt. He deserved his agony. His regret pierced her heart, making her want to forgive him, comfort him, but those feelings were drowned in her own confusion and fear. How could she comfort him when she couldn't find it in herself to forgive him, or even trust him? She may have thought herself shallow and selfish, but Fyra was beyond caring.

In her head, she had thought she would be able to meet him with some grace and poise, but after tonight's events, and the magic already flooding her soul, the emotions she had repressed exploded inside her before she could shove them down.

A small corner of her mind replayed the fond memories, pleading that she loved him still. But the rest of her was frozen water, hard and cold, detached and still. Though her emotions fought a war within her, she couldn't bear the thought of seeing him now.

Her head throbbed from all the excess energy being produced from her whirlwind of emotion. The pain would cease if she released her power, but she couldn't find a reason to let go of what she had managed to hold on for so long.

She didn't glance back at the trail of ash she knew she left. She didn't look down at her glowing anima or hands that hummed with power that made her heart soar. She didn't even wipe away the tears trailing down her face.

Fyra soon found herself at the rooms that had housed her for the past weeks. There would be no escaping the fate that was surely death. Suddenly, Fyra realized how warm she was. Her face was flushed with fever, and her dress itched.

After wiggling uncomfortably for a moment, Fyra's patience grew thin and she tore the stifling gown off her body, leaving ashy hand prints where she touched the fabric. Her hair that was already coming undone, and fell when she tossed the pins across the room.

Before she had processed that her feet were moving again, she was sitting on the bed that had been hers. Fyra examined the arms that lay in front of her. The masking runes on both of her wrists had faded, leaving the brand that was seared into her skin and the soul rune that had burned them out visible, exposed. Slowly, her hand rose in front of her, and she let a small flame appear in her palm.

It sparked and laughed, glowing red, orange, blue. The fyre danced across her fingers and darted round her palm, bending to Fyra's will. Her anima glowed and changed as the flame did, and closing her palm, it shrank into nothing. Laughter bubbling in her throat, She realized she could burn the castle down in a thought if she so wished. She could burn her way through the castle and be gone in a breath of smoke. But deep down, the voices knew she wouldn't do it. They knew she was too weak.

Her laugh was bitter and sharp as it sliced through the silence and pierced her heart like a thousand shards of glass. Hysteria seized her, and Fyra's shoulders shook with what couldn't be distinguished as sobs or laughter.

Her vision blackened as she felt her body struggle against the hands that were suddenly upon her.