"You will sit here until the earth eats away at your bones, and for you, my dear sister, that will be a very long time indeed ..."
*
After the use of dark magic, Liro is outcast from the sisterhood, stripped of her immortal grace and lifespan. Lef...
Liro spat blood, the crimson colour staining the healthy green of the grass. Through her mass of obsidian hair, she eyed Kier with murder. He'd hit her harder on purpose. They were sparring, and partners, no less, yet every time he'd come so close to hitting her, she'd prayed that he never would.
Kier hit hard.
"What was the point of that," she rasped, straightening her spine reflexively. Her bones burned as she fought to stay upright, every joint in her body protesting.
"You aren't learning anything. You're cocky." He cracked his knuckles, the same hand that had connected with her jaw only moments ago. "No shame."
"There's no point in being shameful." She shook out her limbs, one by one. Left, right, then rolled out her neck. "We all end up in the same place, regardless of what we feel inside."
"Now that," he said, pointing at her, "is the kind of attitude that's prohibited." He lunged, arms outstretched. His knuckles were black and blue, his jaw set in a determination that Liro hadn't seen on many others. It was something that she herself hadn't often been driven by.
She ducked, crouching low and driving her body parallel with the ground before crashing unceremoniously, the shock jolting through her body. Her movements were stiff, every bit of her covered in new leather. She'd been fitted nearly three days ago, and even with wearing the armour constantly, the material had yet to become supple. Even her hands were mostly gloved. It had been to ward off Kiers sparring fists and blades.
And to contain the heat that boiled inside of her body constantly, with no outlet to release itself upon.
Without thinking, Liro ripped off her gloves, sweat along her palms making the grass slip beneath her fingers as she tried to find purchase and haul herself to her feet. Kier gripped the soil tightly, rising up to meet her. He took one step in her direction, and she moved.
Her hand connected with Kier's face, every inch of her skin pressing against his cheek, and the heat inside of her rushed towards its exit. Her eyes opened wide, and she gasped before jerking her palm backwards.
A giant red welt decorated Kier's features, the skin already blistering and shining. Like he'd been burned badly.
Yet he had been burned. Liro fought the bile rising in her throat. Her ability couldn't work on humans. So far, she'd only managed to wound her sisters. Not even Lord Hexley, while she had ended his life, had wailed at the feeling of his flesh melting.
Or so she thought. But now, it was seeming that her power was controlled by something much more dangerous. Intention.
Kier's eyes flashed as he took her in. His lips barely moved, yet she heard his whisper from the opposite end of the ring all the same. "Witch."
Liro fisted her hands, letting the heat collect. It danced along the inside of her forearms and slid down her fingers. There was only once command in her head, like a chant, overpowering every other sane thought that tried to break through to her consciousness.
Burn burn burn burn burn.
He'd called her a witch. And she'd used to be. But such terms reminded her of Yasri and Emina, and exactly what witches did. How she'd once thought of her path as right, and only now was she learning how horribly wrong it was.
The Sisters of Ruin were witches, creatures disfiguring everything in their paths without a second glance. Liro had been cast out of that circle, and she wasn't sure where she fit anymore. But she was not going to be associated with them, couldn't bring herself to share a title with her sisters.
Kier was not going to think that she was that terrible. He couldn't.
There was no middle ground. Either she was a saint, or she was a demon sent straight from Hell. Either she was harmless, like a summers breeze, or the term witch would be one that did not fully describe what she was.
"No," she said, her throat tight. "I'm not a witch."
"What human could possibly do what you do?" he snarled. "What are you then, if not a witch?" She saw no fear in his eyes, only a grim determination.
He wanted to know what she was; if only he could know that if she told him, he would not believe her.
"I am many things," she purred. "Cunning, strong, observant, perhaps even cruel. Yet I am not a witch, Kier." His jaw twitched when she said his name. "You would be wise to remember that."
"Nothing is keeping me from burning you at the stake." He unhooked one of his hunting knives from his belt and twirled it along his fingers. "It would seem I could even have you start the fire yourself."
She rose an eyebrow, all the tension leaving her body as a slow smile spread across her face. "You can't burn me."
"Do explain."
She walked closer, growing more confident with every step that she took. "Because I know your secret, Kier. The one that the Queen makes sure you keep hidden at all times."
His expression never faltered, and her expression took on one of amusement. Just to test his limits, she raised a scorching fingertip to the soft spot beneath his ear and pressed. She felt every muscle in him tense, restraining the urge to make a noise.
Liro wasn't a witch, she knew. She was becoming something much worse, and she would make sure that Kier was not dealing with magic. He was dealing with a nightmare made flesh.
"And unless you want someone else to know, I suggest that you keep this little mishap between us," Liro crooned. "Or will we have a problem?"
At his silence, she stepped outside of the sparring circle, calling over her shoulder confidently. "Excellent."
It was the first time since she'd met him that he didn't bark an order at her as she left.
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