they say that war is hell, but,
true hell begins when the battle ends
and you're the only one whose
hands still drip red
The fireballs because skylark can’t fuckin read begin to descend upon her as she finishes up her fireworks, and she spies the volleys like daggers aimed for her heart, a thundering pounding of fluid behind her ear at the realization once more that fire wasn’t a good plan. But it’s likely her foes would know this, it’s likely she shouldn’t freeze under the attention of it. And so she doesn’t, sidestepping one of the flames, trying to reach out with her fire magic to redirect the course of one of them.
But then, in her distraction, one singes the fabric along her shoulder, and she uses her fire magic to douse it should it spark – though the fabric smokes in the space where she’d been singed. And she turns to Deimos with a fanged smirk, a gruff laugh, before she approaches him quickly as she can, reaching out to touch his arm, to activate her upgrade, to see if it quells the magic within him as it does her own.
But then, in her distraction, one singes the fabric along her shoulder, and she uses her fire magic to douse it should it spark – though the fabric smokes in the space where she’d been singed. And she turns to Deimos with a fanged smirk, a gruff laugh, before she approaches him quickly as she can, reaching out to touch his arm, to activate her upgrade, to see if it quells the magic within him as it does her own.
REXANNA
