better in the morning

i am made of bullets; shrapnel /// you are solar flares and soft lips
better creatures could love you i know ///

She waits, heartbeats thundering in her chest as she stands there, letting the cold creep in despite how her jacket prevents most of it. A few minutes initially pass and she starts to grow sluggish, paler than before, the tips of her fingers turning red and not quite curling as well as she had hoped they might, this far in. But that just means that she only has a few more minutes to wait, something the Harpy certainly focuses on, not wanting to let it go too far.

Two more minutes pass and at the five minute mark she croaks out a little “now please,” muffled and mumbled by the way her lips are tinged blue and not quite warm and malleable enough to be able to do anything else about it other than turn to face him and Zuriel, slow and already somewhat statuesque, minor shifting and waiting for the fresh breath of fire to encase her and start to push back the effects.

kiada

/// but now they'll have to get through me
my love should wear a warning sign, damn right i remember you

Deimos

The Sword had always known what it meant to test limitations – boundaries of the soul, of incantations, of shifts, of pure, raw power. There’d been times where his body could do no more; from battles to death to magic riddling through his skin – but he wasn’t certain any of them compared to how the Ancients dealt with their own restrictions and constraints. Beings built for the heat, the sun, the fire, could only bear this world for so long, and he knew it was only Kiada’s love for Halo, and likely some of his own interventions, that permitted these strangled, suffocating seconds. Zuriel stood by, her own gaze narrowed, struggling not to intervene on her own merits.

So he took a breath and catered to her whims the moment she asked – the flames summoned, engulfing, surrounding, and pervading her entity until she seemed a representation of all the embers and conflagrations. The infernal, tempestuous edges rose and rose under his power, nothing delicate, nothing feeble, encasing until she could maneuver to the edge of the deck again. “Let me know when you can move,” as he amplified heat, as he willed it to course towards and around, waiting for the information so he could begin to coax the blaze around her motions.

what does it mean to look upon a ruin
we are boneless. we are boiling hot blood.

i am made of bullets; shrapnel /// you are solar flares and soft lips
better creatures could love you i know ///

Kiada shivers the second that the flame starts to engulf around her, careful not to touch the jacket or herself, the warmth is a shock to her system and a boon that has her statuesque attempts reverting, shifting and turning back into more malleable limbs, the blue in her face and fingers in the pockets turning pink the more encased she is by it.

“I can move.” She tells him , giving a few seconds for the voice to reach him before she does start to move, letting the flame move around her as she settles into the space offered, warming up as she moves and as they go, slipping into the warm heat of the house finally where she sluggishly and slowly slips out of the jacket and makes a beeline for the fireplace (as quickly as a stone cold Ancient can go, that is), before immediately sticking her hand into the fireplace with a soft little “thank you.”

And once everything in her is warmed up enough, full of food and waiting for Evie’s return, it’s a good evening before she falls asleep in their spare bedroom next to her own fireplace, content and warm, ready for the next day’s trek.

- FIN <333

kiada

/// but now they'll have to get through me
my love should wear a warning sign, damn right i remember you