WEAVER
She knows something is really wrong when her flaming arm doesn’t stop him. Fuck winning, it’s not worth burning her brother over. The fire goes out and she stills, dropping the knife in her hand so it clatters to the ground, opening both palms in surrender. She liked to win, but not like this. Somewhere in the middle of this fight it had ceased to be a spar and become something else entirely for him. At the moment it’s all she can hope that he will stop, that she won’t be forced to do something even worse to get him off of her and her throat.
Still, her magic seeps into him, doing what it can to stop the blood that flows from his open wounds, to ease the blistering flesh on his hand and arm. She cannot heal it all, but she can heal enough that he won’t bleed out on her, at any rate. Though still, she can feel the blood that drips from his side onto her shirt, soaking it with warm, sticky liquid. ”Enough,” she says, exaggerating the word so he can read her lips. As her eyes find his, those bottomless black pits, she can look back only with concern.
Still, her magic seeps into him, doing what it can to stop the blood that flows from his open wounds, to ease the blistering flesh on his hand and arm. She cannot heal it all, but she can heal enough that he won’t bleed out on her, at any rate. Though still, she can feel the blood that drips from his side onto her shirt, soaking it with warm, sticky liquid. ”Enough,” she says, exaggerating the word so he can read her lips. As her eyes find his, those bottomless black pits, she can look back only with concern.
I was made to be wild, wicked, and free
