Syrire

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                If Valen had any sort of answers on how Syrire's entire livelihood was stripped away in some mysterious fall to the most inner circle of the underworld he wasn't showing it. He wasn't speaking at all anymore actually, at least not to Syrire. Instead the dragon man was pacing back and forth across the cerulean marbled floor of his kitchen mumbling something in a language she couldn't understand. The cabinets lined with mirrors provided Syrire ever angle to his newfound nervousness. While his pace seemed in time with trying to keep her gaze away from her reflection, after every couple rounds or so of the island she was sitting at he would stop and smile gently, motioning her in encouragement to keep drinking her lukewarm tea. She wasn't certain when she decided to start sipping on it, knowing it was a potion, but she didn't feel she had much of a choice due to Valen's insisting it will help. This didn't taste like any chamomile she has ever drank. Forbid of the pastel yellow hue and replaced with vibrate magenta. Instead of the mild floral tones, this one tasted sweeter with a warm spiced taste following that reminded her of ginger. I wonder if he could sense my stomach pain, she thought. With each growing sip, her tiredness grew, but remembering the eternal winter outside caused her heart to fight back the sandman lurking outside her mind palace doors.

"Valen?", she felt bad as the tall man jumped and shrunk back as if a scolded child, clearly spooking him out of deep thought. He hummed in response.

"Is something wrong?", she inquired.

        Valen shook his head, face a little more pale than before and Syrire could have sworn one of the reflections caught a smirk she didn't notice moments ago. "I simply can't wrap my head around it, fallen one. In my days, I've seen people... warriors and cowards alike succumb to the ice. Yet a woodland nymph stripped from her duties thrusted into Frevde can barely recall the life you have lived. Drink the tea, it will hopefully help you remember more. Never in all my years trapped here have I seen someone stripped of their very being. And here I am left with the choice of duty. A question of... immortality."

Immortality? Trapped? That's why the frost doesn't hurt him, Valen can't die. "You're trapped here?"

      "Of course not. Drink your tea." Valen's red eyes lowered and snapped hastily to her frame as if catching himself exposing a secret he wasn't supposed to. For a brief moment Syrire's heart fluttered wondering if maybe she did have her magic afterall. She could feel something familiar pulling inside of her that she couldn't quite reach. He's hiding something. Syrire knew a lot about secrets, she was a nymph after all. People far and wide would come to her family's enchanted forest to reveal secrets. She couldn't recall any now, but she supposed that's the magic of telling a nymph. Secrets were a sense of currency, and in all worlds currency brought more troubles. Whatever she was now, didn't take that away. Valen is lying. That she knew was a fact. Her fingers twitched around her cup of tea as she pondered with herself should she try and touch him again to release his secret burden. Begrudgingly, she thought maybe she shouldn't, she hasn't taken a secret from such a large being before and it didn't work last time so why set herself up for disappointment. At least not that I can remember.

"I thought you were the head guardian?", she switched the conversation back onto Valen.

"I am."

"Then how could you be trapped?"

"I suppose the same way you are, only I know the god who put me down here. Saying my kind are too dangerous to be in the overworld, that there is not a place for dragons. He is doing me a favor."

"If you know the god that put you here, can't we just ask him to let us go?", she asked innocently.

     Laughter boomed through the cavern house at that question. It chilled Syrire's bones, causing her to wrap her arms around her bare skin that still hurt to the touch and makes Syrire wish she had something heavier than the blanket draped across her lap. Valen's laughter wasn't a warm laughter that ached your ribcage, it tasted of offense. Cabinets shook melodiously dishes clanked around inside, causing Syrire grabbed her tea cup and finished it quickly to avoid any spillage. She'd hate to think how much it would cost if you stained cerulean marble. Valen's faux amusement remained on his face as he extended his hand to her rhetorically. For a moment, she considered taking it.

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