"Combat, I'm ready for combat. I say I don't want that, but what if I do?"
She was raised in a burning house.
Where the walls are shiny and the floor is squeaky to hide all the grime and dirt that lives underneath the wallpapers and tiles.
Where portraits and pictures and trophies hang in every single corner to take attention away from the crying and the shouting and the bruises.
Where the light is always far too bright and the rooms are always far too cold.
Where the mirrors are unforgiving and the kitchen is a sinner.
A not-home.
Where the silence is deafening.
Where a father is not a father but a monster.
And a mother is not a mother but a hollow body.
She was raised in a burning house.
Where the word legacy was ingrained through her skin and into her very bones.
Where the fire licked into her soul until she ached with a pain that will never go away until she dies.
She was raised in a burning house.
And she burns along with it.
"I never grew up, it's getting so old. Help me hold onto you."
She doesn't know where she is.
Her eyes are closed, partly from the pain and partly because of her instincts screaming at her to assess the situation, to ensure her safety before doing anything to possibly put herself in danger, if not more danger.
Vivienne thinks, however unlikely, that maybe they've recaptured her. She has no idea how she got here, doesn't even remember passing out. And while the forest - it suddenly occurs to her that the last thing she remembers is running through the forest - is significantly far away from the branch she escaped from, one can never know with those sly motherfuckers.
But a few seconds is all it takes for Vivienne to lower her guard. Not fully, never fully, but enough that her body isn't so wound up tight anymore.
Because it's warm. Like the campfires she used to have with her team when they were on missions. Warm like the glowing sun at dawn, when the air is still a bit salty from the night showers, the sun that is solely for her because no one else is up at that sort of time.
And it smells of lilies and strong chamomile tea, with a hint of the dusty smell of old well-loved books. There is a cloak of well-used magic wafting through the entire place, and maybe going beyond as well, making it so she couldn't start to tell where exactly the magic ends and where the physical barriers of the house stop.
The Association certainly wouldn't be warm, at any moment nor time. It wouldn't smell of flowers or freshly-baked bread. The Association is cold, heartless, a battleground that knows no rest. It's the open mouth of a monster - dangerous and unpredictable. No matter which branch, even in the headquarters - especially in the headquarters - it wouldn't smell of freshly-cooked tomato soup or feel like a soft blanket made of yarn.
She falls back into a sleepless dream.
"I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost. The room is on fire, invisible smoke. And all of my heroes die all alone. Help me hold onto you."
She wakes with a loud gasp, sucking in a sharp breath as she feels a sting in her side, where she knows a rather large wound is currently residing. It is sudden, burning her immediately, rendering her writhing in pain.
"Sorry." A tender voice quietly murmurs from somewhere beside her. "Had to use a potion cause I can't use healing magic right now."
She struggles to open her eyes, twisting and groaning several times from the ache coursing through her entire body. Her hands grasp soft fabric and hold onto it for dear life, fingers aching from the sheer force she's using. She pants roughly, tears dripping down her cheeks in spite of herself. She lets out a wretched sob as another wave of burning heat hits her body like a raging forest fire.
Then it stops, as abruptly as it started, and someone's pulling her out of the fire with soft whispered words that slips from her mind like fine sand and gentle hands carding through her sweaty hair.
She falls into a dream that smells like a rainforest.
"I've been the archer. I've been the prey. Screaming, "who could ever leave me, darling?" But who could stay? (I see right through me, I see right through me.)"
.
.
.
A/N:
Second chapter! This didn't come out of my fingers as easy as I thought it would, unfortunately. Tell me what you think!
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Tenterhooks
RomanceFate has always been known for their taste in playing tricks. So it didn't surprise her, in all honesty, when a witch showed up soaking wet and thoroughly bruised on her doorstep one stormy night, clutching her side and looking at her with shining e...
