Nothing's Conventional About Us

XXVIII ~ Flame

The hue of a burning fire,
Engulfing anything that comes its way,
Eating at night and evil,
At conscience and fragile peace.
Flame is the hue that wakes
In the middle of the night
And calls it a dawn.
Of reign, of power
And of unadulterated victory.

Flame

It took her only a moment to recuperate from the truth, unbelievably swift in light of the revelation he had just made.

"I see.", is all she said, her voice steady and not so much as a tremulous breath to give away the swirling storm within.

He looked her way, his lips alifting atvthe corners.

"The possible blow to the conscience not enough to move your strength, Princess?", his voice held humour that lined and coated the concern that he could in no way let escape now - not when it could cause fear to bubble within her.

They did not have the luxury of hesitation.

"If it is my truth, my identity, then I need to acquaint myself with it. And Death can only get so sweet, even when I am spared the grimmer end of the thread of doom.", she said as she skimmed a finger down one of the lines that criss-crossed her right palm.

"Use it carefully.", he said, not looking at her, as he summoned a glowing, fiery arrow onto the stretched-taut bowstring, "Not all of them deserve mercy."

"Oh, don't you worry, my love.", she smirked as a gentle spark of silver-bathed ruby erupted on her skin, "It is either hell or heaven."

"That you are, I suppose. Being Heaven's heir is such sweet fortune.", his voice was almost a purr of raw masculine seduction, as his eyes remained trained in his target, in the dark depths of the cursed forest.

The arrow whizzed through the air as soon as his finger lifted - precise and absolutely in his own element.

Ululating shrieks erupted in the wooded darkness as soon as the glowing hue of flame hit a single spot of dry brush and begun spreading like lightning through a night sky.

The silver-ruby spark in her palm was now a raging flame that covered her entire palm, then the other, and her midnight eyes swirled with night, the sparkle of stars and the peril of them.

Focussed solely on the terrified souls in the burning forest where the assault of fire-arrows was now ceaseless.

What were a few mortal souls in the face of a God's wrath?

Wrath?

Her eyes snapped to him - his form now glowing dark gold, the divinity radiating from him amplifying his might and his beauty - and the godspeed at which he shot the arrows. So deathly precise. So consistent. So persistent in their thirst for life.

Wrath, yes, it was wrath that was making him every bit of the God of War with not even a single hint of the mortal Prince that the world knew.

"At what?", was all she whispered into his mind, and not even a single muscle in his body reacted to that question. Till he asked her a question, his own mental voice non-chalant.

"Was it only him?"

No.

She did not even intend the answer when it slipped past whatever bridge connected their minds.

"Correct.", he said that word aloud.

It was never only the late King of Sindhu who had attempted to turn her life into an infernal pit. He had an accomplice - a shadowy, hissing, magic-riddled one. One that dwelled in and almost ruled this forest. This burning, dying forest of nightmares.