Reckless

Chapter 2 Part 3

Note: This is not new content. This was edited for easier reading. New content will come out on Tuesday.

Character POV: Roxanne

3 MONTHS LATER

"Just burn the fucking log, Aoibhe. You can cut me with a sword and muscle me off balance despite the residual pain in your leg, so you should be able to conjure something by now. Hell, I could do better and I don't even have magic," she snorts, applying paint to her nails like I have never seen another woman do.

Anger shoots through me, but the moment I whirl on her, a blast of pain shoots through me. I grit my teeth as I hiss at her, "Magic relies on the nerves, and I know that some nerves were damaged on that pyre in my leg. So don't get all judgmental because this is taking longer than you expected it would. If it pisses you off so much, then fuck off. I can do this on my own, thanks."

She stops doing her nails then, and looks at me with this hard look that would send a lesser person skittering off. All it does is make me stand a little bit taller and glare her down. She smirks at that, setting the paint aside as she holds up her hands and shows me the bright red paint on her nails. "I did not just paint my nails in your favorite color to celebrate the day I was sure would be the day you would conquer this just to "fuck off" and go back to boring, lesser company." She rolls her eyes and mutters, "If I have to hear that organ hymn one more time, I might actually kill another whole town."

"The closest town is where the father of the man who tried to burn me alive is the resident pastor, so I might not actually be opposed to that," I blurt before I can think better of it. She looks at me then, slowly and carefully, cocking her head to one side as she gives me a long look.

"You actually meant that," she says, not a question because she has gotten good at reading me in these past few months. "You didn't intend to mean that, but you did. Fuck, girl, that's what I am talking about," she laughs, standing tall. "And that is what you need to channel to get your magic going. The reason nothing is coming out, why you can't even cast a simple fire spell and light the log on fire is because you are so busy suppressing what you are actually feeling that you have no more mental space or energy for anything else. So throw all of your rage, all of that pain, into this one act. Light the log on fire, so we can both get to what we need to do."

I turn away from her and face the single log she has set within the rocks that mark our fire pit. This should be easy, but the force of the emotions I am no longer trying to suppress almost knocks me on my ass. A sharp stabbing pain, so bad that I can barely breathe, pierces my chest as my skin begins to heat up and my own screaming and pleading for that pastor to stop rings on repeat in my head. And then I scream out loud, the sound deafening as I shoot my hands towards the logs. I vaguely hear Ariadne, as if she is a great distance away from me, saying, "SHIT, SHIT, I mean, amazing, but also, SHIT."

My rage builds and builds as I close my eyes, and I force as much of that emotion out of me as I possibly can at any rate. I feel the heat beginning to reach me from the fire, and it triggers the memory of the flames as they licked at my leg, and rage flows through me anew, causing more magic to escape me.

Then, I feel hands on either side of my face, feel someone shaking me, and when that doesn't work, a gentle stroke across the face forces my eyes open. Orange and red hues make the contours of her face more pronounced as Ariadne shakes me again by the shoulders. " Aoibhe, you did it, but you did it a little too well. The entire forest is now on fire, and I don't know if you paid attention very well, but fire kills witches. So, you might want to reign this shit back in." She steps away from me then, and I close my eyes again, but I don't let go of the hand she briefly offered me to reassure me. Instead, I hold tight to her, using her as my anchor to the present instead of allowing myself to drift into some of the worst moments of my life. I inhale sharply, and I feel all of the heat of the fire disappear, absorbed back into me, and I open my eyes again, seeing our hands still joined, and I quickly drop her hand as a blush stains my cheeks.

"I get you feeling like you want to burn it all down," she smirks, whistling a long note before turning towards me, a thousand stars shining in her eyes as she says, "And I am just honored to have witnessed a natural disaster of that scale. You're just chaos in a petite vessel." She seems to remind herself of something then, the realistic side of her appearing. "But that just proves that you don't need me any longer, and you're back to your badass self. And, someone was bound to notice that. If they see us together, I am not exactly dressed to conform. It'll draw too much attention and you'll end up on a pyre again and I'll be staked in a box. So, this is where it has to end." She extends her hand to me, and I take it, all of the words gone from me. We shake hands, suddenly so formal, and she says with a wink, "I'll be seeing you later. So keep those skills sharp."

She pulls her hand away from mine first, my favorite color sliding out of view once again. Ariadne turns away from me, walking into the charred woods. I am about to move after her when that thick fog descends, the flapping of wings reaching my ears, and the fog clears to reveal that she has gone. I see dawn beginning to stain the horizon, and I understand her need for a quick exit, but when she has left, the world is suddenly too quiet for me. I am suddenly very aware of how alone I am in these woods, how many dangers lurk around, and how odd it would look for a random woman to be out in these woods by herself during this time period. And in that hollow space, my thoughts begin to race. So, I gather the weapons I notice she left me instead of taking with her, strap them discreetly under the nice dress she also gave me, and move out of these woods, heading away.

I pause by the town, seeing the father of the man who tried to kill me, and knowing that no one is around and would ever know, I let my rage off its leash. I point a finger at him, the man who taught such hate to his son, and watch as he falls to the ground, clutching his chest. I move away quickly, before anyone can notice someone lurking on the edge of town, heading deep into another stretch of woods. But the ghosts still linger in my mind, and there will be a thousand more men like him and his son around every bend.