I can't remember whether this was the first Sky Fire piece or second but I do remember the last line was the prompt. We did this a few times where we were given a last line and told to write a short piece that led to it. It's a good exercise for those that struggle maintaining a plotline.
Throne.
The woman of fire stood in the empty throne-room. The sun had dared not rise yet, concealing her from the eyes of day. She stood and she stared at the empty throne. In her eyes was nothing. Not worry for her husband – her king – at war. Not fear for what the future would bring. No sense of longing stirred in her. She just stared, gaze as distant as the high peaks of Gohra.
"...what would you have done?" She murmured, still staring at the cold throne. Never had she sat in that place before. Never did she dare to, not when 'he' was around. She took a step towards the ancient curse man put upon his people. Upon the seat, the kings crown sat radiant in the light of her flickering lantern. Aurithea watched the fire dance across the gold garment, green eyes now transfixed.
Dragons did love anything that shone.
She closed her eyes, lips moving with a single silent payer. Words that would never be heard accept by her gods. However, some days Aurithea doubted whether her gods even heard her words. It had been so long since Hina's fortune smiled upon her, and she had lost sight of the courage her mother was named after. History spoke not of tamed dragons, so, she had nothing to compare with. No writer nor poet would understand her pain.
Two daughters born to her. Two beautiful girls with eyes of boundless hope. Two treasures worth more than a castle of gold, that kept her in line. Aurithea may not have cared about the bruises that dappled her body, or the scars stung across her back. But she cared for them. Her little family, her kin. Blood was a bond that transcended common honour.
She reached out, grasping the crown between her fingers. The queen of all people's accept common man set her lantern down. The crown lay lay between both her hands as she raised it up. Aurithea stared at her reflection in the curve of the gold. She smiled. This crown that only men had ever worn, that was bathed in blood of innocence, one day it would belong to her children again. But for now...
Aurithea sat herself upon the throne and placed the crown atop her head. It sat heavy and yet, her posture remained completely straight. Her flaming hair for which she was known echoed the colours of the crown. She looked radiant as the light of dawn bathed her body. A light nightgown of translucent white was all she wore. The fabric lifted and fell like a delicate ocean across her body.
"Hm...someday, someday..." She whispered as a promise to her blood new and old. The words were not in common, but the langue of old. The one in which her name was more literal, the langue of rebellion. A tongue spoken by wolves and dragons alike, by the fae in the east and the sprites in the south. The langue once common before the era of man.
Creak.
The door complained as it was pushed open. The queens head spun, eyes wild as they fixed on the entrance. Her pupil's shrunk to slits, gaze becoming a glare. Her nails dug into the ornate armrest.
"Well my mischievous little dragon, you really should not be here." The king spoke through smirking lips. The man was large, draped in richly embroidered fabrics that mocked his peers. He stepped in, and locked the door behind. Aurithea crossed her legs at the knee, still sat wearing his crown.
"You're back." She replied simply.
"You sound surprised."
"No, not really."
"Good," The king replied, his monstrous eyes scanning her head to bare toe. A scandalous sight indeed. Aurithea however did not shrink as other women would. She did not attempt to try and cover herself further. The pride of a dragon was undying.
"You look ravishing my little thing, why don't you welcome you king home?" He spoke with a certain suggestion. He was not subtle, and Aurithea had to remind herself not to wince. As he approached to 'take what was his', she rose her foot and planted it to his chest.
"No." She replied with a firmness she'd never usually dare show. His expression went from greedy to irritated in a flash like lightening.
"No?"
No." She reaffirmed. He grabbed ahold of her ankle and yanked her from his throne. She growled as her dress tore and she fell. A bundle of bones and flesh colliding at his feet like so many nation. The crown fell from her head and she was left looking up at the monster who owned it.
Who owned her.
"You dare speak back to me?! Have you forgotten your place harlot?!" He yelled and yet she still did not shrink. No not here, not alone. The fire remained deep within her. The fire of Khal. She knew how these events would end, that did not mean she would not fight them.
"...sorry sir..." She muttered. In a moment of madness, the queen snatched her leg back from his hold. She flung her foot into his stomach and when he doubled over, she got up. With all defiance a million nations held against this man, she sat herself back in the throne.
"There, i'm in my place."
