Firelight by

Halimede

The fire burns brighter and ever higher.

In the corner, Elka cowers. She tries not to. She tries to draw on the well of courage she had found so ready every other time she’d faced danger and death with Cecelia by her side. She tries to calm her nerves, steel her heart. Isn’t she meant to be a hero? The defender, the leader of them all?

But then. She’d always had Cecelia by her side to draw strength from.

“I loved you once,” says Cecelia lightly. Her fingers are alight with dancing flames.

Elka pushes herself up on her elbows. She chokes on the tangy taste of blood as it drips down, down, down.

“You were meant to stand by my side.” She might be imagining it, but Elka thinks she hears Cecelia’s voice crack.

She thinks, for a split second, of trying to speak. Of begging, of explaining, of raging at her traitor, her enemy. Her love, her other half.

In the end, the very idea exhausts her. She stays silent and tries to stand back up. The newly mottled burns weave a tapestry up her arms as they shift with every micro-movement.

The flames around them simmer slightly. In front of her, Cecelia crouches down, looking her in the eyes, gaze so unlike the starry-eyed dream-filled girl Elka used to know. She lays a hand against Elka’s cheek. It’s warm, still smoking.

Elka doesn’t flinch.

“Priya was right about you,” Cecelia murmurs. “I wish she wasn’t. But she was right about all of it. All of--” She throws out her arm-- “this. If only you could have seen that.”

A cough fights its way out of her lungs. Then another. They wrack their way through her, leaving her trembling from the onslaught, braced against the wall.

But Cecelia isn’t quite so untouched either. Frosted fractals line one cheek, tugging awkwardly at her mouth as she speaks, the skin looking deadened and ashy against the firelight. She holds one leg stiffly behind the other, the ankle twisted a bit too far to the right. Elka had gotten a few good hits in, at least.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But Priya’s right; I have to do it.” Cecelia seems to be speaking more to herself than to Elka, even when inches from her face. “You understand, I think. Even though you don’t want to.”

And her hand shoots forward, sparks alighting the tips of her fingers.

She holds it loosely. Right at Elka’s throat.

“I’ll miss you,” she says. A half-smile graces her face, almost cheeky. Just like the old days.

She inhales--

And it’s the last time she ever does.

Her own arm shot out in front of her, Elka screams in tandem with Cecelia as her hand presses flat against Cecelia’s heart.

And she freezes it from the inside out.

“Smoke Break”, Illustration by Hecate

bloc d'art: a haiku (and cry for help)

by Yuridice

no thoughts, head empty the bane of my existence i just want to draw

songbird by Vérité

In the midst of the garden hangs a gold-twined cage with a silent bird inside.

The bird is young, and small. It is new, as well, placed in the cage only a week prior after the death of the one that came before. It has blue-sheened, silver feathers and short, stubby wings. Its eyes are small and dull, and it stands utterly still.

Every day, without fail, the princess comes and watches it.

After all, the two are kindred spirits.