catching fire

when it's just the two of us, only the two of us

Winning doesn't feel sweet. It doesn't feel good, and it doesn't feel worth it. But it's done, and that's the main thing for Isla as she streaks across the snow-clogged fields towards the Outskirts; towards the Greatwood. She doesn't breathe, so there's no gasping, no rise and fall of her chest. There's no blood pounding in her ears, no screaming of her muscles. But that doesn't mean she feels nothing.

There's no way to even tell if Remi will be there waiting; will be anywhere near where she wants to be, and if Isla has to, she'll break rules and slip into the darkness of the forest to find her friend. Only when the woods are in view does she finally slow her steps, looking as though... well, as though she's recently fought an aerial battle as a manticore, and hunkered down in a jail to avoid going up in flames.

i could die

Isla

right now everything you want is wrong
& right now all your dreams are waking up

Remi has lost the plot. He's so wracked by indecision and uncertainty, that he has been standing idly-by near the Outskirts, just waiting. Waiting for what he isn't entirely sure, but he knows it hasn't come yet. The ascended battle within is not his to interfere with, he knows this. But it grates against every instinct he has that wants to keep Isla safe. Even if that means going against the place he holds in this entire ridiculous war.

So why hasn't he, then? Because when your life has become unmoored, nothing makes sense.

How long he's been standing there even he can't say. Shadows have consumed him entirely, and it's only as Isla crests his field of view that his movement breaks the illusion. Her name is silent on his lips as he dashes to meet her, arms outstretched to draw her in close, into his arms and around in circles.

The Lullaby