Flame of the Huntress

Melt Away

The man who walked through looked like nothing of this world. His dark features crooned with devilish intent. Shadows wreathed around him–a coat made of the darkest nights, reflections of the darkest killers and unworldly creatures. Just like the High Lord, there is nothing to be read on his sharp features–a carefully constructed weapon. The days back at the guild when men were created for one purpose–to inflict pain and suffering–to kill. His eyes–pools of painful promise, the whitnesses to his wickedest tortures.

Right as the door shuts behind Cassian, shadows sprinted towards me.

                                  ~~~~~~~~~

I coughed out another spurt of blood.

The ShadowSinger left my cage just before midnight in a casual grace– as if he did not just torture my body and soul to bring out the words he so badly desired–But I did not allow him the satisfaction. No one will break me, no one can break me.

At the guild Arobynn not only trained our bodies to be resistant, but our minds to be as unbreakable. No matter the amount of pain or sufferage we endure, our minds will not succumb to the human weakness of yielding.

I know my torturer will come back, probably every night until I spilled the name they so desperately desired. I wouldn't put it past the High Lord to take it within himself to personally kill whoever threatened his life–even if it is a king, by just the power exuding from him, I am certain his victim will have no chance to even plead innocence before his head is dropped like a dead weight.

Too bad I won't be around to see what the idiots planned for me. A smile creeps its way on my bloodied lips. By the time the Shadowsinger makes his second appearance I will be long gone~

Loud steps from above woke me from my not so gracious sleep. Each morning, just at the break of dawn, footsteps pound above my ceiling. I suppose the cellars in the Castle aren't much below surface. Lucky for me their footing has given me a clear indication of the time. It was now early morning, the blood around my mouth and nose dried and flanking–credits to the Shadowsinger. Even though I was trapped in a brick prison, shackled to iron, and drenched in my own blood–I awoke with a smile gracing my face. Today is the day I escape.

    The shy maiden wouldn't arrive for another few hours for my daily delivery of stale bread and cheese--which gave me plenty of time to prepare.

    Being handcuffed to iron, would have completely depleted any other magic wielder's power by the first day. However, I am no ordinary wielder. I am able to store my flames in an impenetrable place, where no thing or one could reach it. In a place where it would never die out--

My heart.

    I am still in my dress and braided bun–which are now coated in filth and blood– from the ball. Although they did search my dress for any weapons, where they confiscated my precious daggers–they didn't think to not rack through my hair. Fools. I began shaking my head like a wet dog, slowly the braid–which now felt like a bird's nest– began to unwind. Then, a black pin that I used to keep the bun upright, fell to the floor. Fools indeed.

~~~~~~

    Arobynn summoned me to his quarters after training. I knocked at the wooden door that I know all too well. "Darling, come in," The voice is laced with charm, a subtle purr–the voice of my nightmares. Doing as he says, I made my way into his quarters, to the same grand yet ruggedly aged place I can never forget. The walls–made from the darkest of oak, reach high. The moonlight seeped through the large window on his left–half masked by a deep red drape. The only other light being those around his dark oak desk where he lays. Arobynn is sprawled along his chair with one leg prompted on his desk, one arm casually draped behind while the other swirls a glass of wine– his eyes shine bright with lust as he takes me in. The candlelight maneuvers around every crease of his handsome face, like he owns the very flames. I remain silent, anxious about what treacherous plans Arobynn has for me. Finally, breaking the silence of his all too roaming eyes, he reached for a black box with a red ribbon as he spoke,"Happy Birthday, Vivian"~

~~~~~~

The pin was made of tantalum carbide, the only substance able to withstand my flames without melting. I stared at the gift, at the intricate vine carvings wrapping through as I began to concentrate my power.  Inhaling a shaken breath from exhaustion, I channeled the energy stored deep within–like a hand reaching down a dark abyss searching for the light.

I could feel the pulse–not the steady beat of my heart, but the racing song of my power.

It danced along my skin, greeting me like an old friend apart for way, way too long. I leaned my head back, taking in the sensation–

Oh, how I missed you my beautiful embers~

Directing the hear to the pin, it began to glow bright red between my fingers–it does not burn me however, for it is as if I am reabsorbing the heat. Finally with the power I managed to muster from my heart, I put the now scorching pin over my left iron handcuff. I watch in satisfaction as the iron slowly melts away. Once my left hand was free of its clutches I began to melt the other~