She was tired. So tired of being the girl with the magic, the wielder of flames. So tired of being the dragonblood, the only one who could save them all. Just for once could she be fought for, just for once could she be the saved instead of the saviour? She didn't want to fight. Couldn't.
Darkness swirled, smoke and flames eddying up though the air. Smoke and flames of her soul. The mask she had worn for so long slowly chipping away. And wearing a mask for so long made her fear who she was beneath it.
Anger filled her veins. Anger was better than grief, better than pain, better than guilt, than despair. And that anger was hers.
And the darkness that surrounded her — that was what she became.
As her screams filled the chamber, she embraced the pain, the fear, the anger. And in those moments where the days bled into nights countless times, she promised herself she would live. Fear it or embrace it, she would live.
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A Throne of Flames || COMPLETED
Fantasia"Before there was anything there were dragons. They ruled over oblivion, a gaping void where nothing exists but everything lives." The war had raged for decades. And in it's wake all that had been left was a broken expanse of a fire burnt wasteland...
