The Fire Within

Explanations

In the parlor, Cirice and Papa sat quietly. She wasn't sure what to say or do--a battle raged within her mind as she fought to grasp all of the new memories, to recall everything she had been made to forget.

Papa gazed at her, silent. He took in her movements. The way her leg jolted slightly or the way her eyes were taking in the room around them. She was nervous--alert. Papa sat forward and began to prepare her a cup of tea. She watched him, and then extended her arm to take the small china teacup from him.

"Tell me of where you have been," Papa commanded, taking his own teacup. The scent was calming as Cirice sighed.

"There isn't much to tell. The place was an absolute nightmare." Cirice commented as Mason, who had been resting by the fire stretched and sighed.

"Hell on Earth?" Papa remarked softly. Cirice chuckled.

"Pretty much. Then Alex drags me away and everything just happened so fast. The traveling, the witches, the ghūl ." Papa, who had been sipping from his cup, choked. The cup clanked back onto the saucer and Cirice sat up in worry. Papa coughed and held up his free hand-- signaling that he was fine.

"Ghūl?" he gasped softly, eyeing her.

"Yes. After we...traveled-" Cirice started, still unsure of how she had gotten there in the first place.

"We were walking and it appeared. It attacked Alex and I stopped it with-" Once again Cirice paused, eyeing her hand. Her fingernails, slightly grown, were lined with dirt.

"Hellfire." Papa finished, averting his eyes to the fire. Cirice shook her head.

"I don't understand. What is Hellfire, why do I have it, and what actually is a ghūl?" Cirice questioned curiously, straightening her back and eyeing him. Papa chuckled.

"You are every bit your mother's daughter. So inquisitive. I shall answer your questions, but you must be patient." Papa started. Cirice nodded and relaxed after Papa eyed her.

"When a Ghoul dies, he is to be turned to ash and then dispersed among our land. It is a way for our souls to return to the Dark Lord." At the mention of his unholiness, Cirice bristled recalling her childhood and every memory she had of him.

"If these rituals are not heeded, and the bodies are left unattended, they can be reanimated by necromancers," Papa explained, nodding to her. Cirice's brow furrowed.

"But who would do that? What purpose would they have?" Cirice questioned, moving her hands. She watched Papa as he sighed.

"Cardinal Copia." he said slowly. Cirice bit her lip.

"He has followers. They steal the bodies, bring them to his witch and she reanimates them to do his bidding. I imagine he got word of your return and sent someone to test your ability." Papa said, gesturing to her hands.

"The Hellfire?" Cirice asked softly. He nodded.

"Your mother, Lucifer rest her soul, was a wielder of fire. I suppose she passed along her abilities to you." he mused.

"But why is it Hellfire. Why don't I have actual fire like..." Cirice trailed off, recalling what she had seen that night in Boston. She was certain, now, that Alex wielded fire. But if he did, why hadn't he used it on the ghūl? Why had he been throwing fruitless punches? Cirice pondered.

"Like your mother? She learned to wield her fire. To bend it to her will. You shall too." Papa promised, giving a small smile. Cirice bit her lip and nodded.

"Won't you tell me more about her?" Cirice asked, now conscious of the few things she did know about her. Papa smiled.

"Of course, but all in due time, kära en." Papa said, standing as Ithica appeared.

"Ithica has prepared your room. You must rest." Papa said as Cirice rounded the coffee table, Mason following. Papa enclosed Cirice in another hug and she took in his familiar scent. She wanted to remember it forever.

"I will be here when you awaken. We will speak later." Papa promised, gently tapping her nose. Cirice grinned as Papa released her.

"Goodnight, kära en." Papa called as she followed Ithica through the door and let it close behind her.

"Your room is just how you left it, Miss," Ithica commented as they began to climb the stairs to Cirice's room. She fought to remember her way around, yet the castle felt hazy. It was as if she had visited it in a dream, a dream that ended fourteen years ago.

Ithica was talking but Cirice could barely keep up with her comments on the weather and the chill of the castle. Instead, they climbed higher and higher, tangling around more curved stairs and long hallways until they reached a door.

"Well, here we are. Now you try to get some rest, Miss. I'll send up some supper soon. As for you, no felines allowed." Ithica warned to Mason who had appeared moments behind them. Mason mowed and was engulfed in black smoke.

In the cat's place, a Doberman appeared, his ears alert and short tail wagging.

"Dogs either." Ithica shot back as Mason whined and sunk to the floor.

"You don't have to stay out here all night. I'm sure there are other rooms." Cirice reasoned, eyeing him. Mason's golden brown eyes met hers and he sighed. Cirice shrugged.

"Suit yourself." She thanked Ithica and entered the room, gently shutting the door behind her. She heard Mason sigh again and turned to her room.

Once again, a dream-like state began to the befall her. The fireplace held a generous fire, its warmth reaching her at the door. On either side of the mantle rested two phoenixes. They crested up over the sides and met in the middle of the mantle.

Above it, a large painting hung. Cirice gasped, coming forward and examining it--also marveling at the heat. A young Cirice stared back at her, her green eyes wide and blue dress pristine. She was kneeling at her father's knee, head propped against it. Her father looked down at her, a small smile painting his lips.

Cirice fought to remember when it had been painted. Surely it would have taken hours to complete. Sighing, she turned around and took in the rest of the room. A lounge was to her right and an armchair to her left. Further left, her large canopy bed sat, it's curtains and sheets matching.

In front of her on the wall with her door, a large vanity with a towering mirror sat quietly. On it, a pitcher and bowl sat, having hastily been dusted as she had been speaking to Papa. There was a feel to the room. An odd comfort that Cirice couldn't place.

She went to the wardrobe. An imposing wooden monstrosity that took her every will to open. A single white nightgown hung amongst a few dresses that were much too small for Cirice now. She stroked the dresses, the fabric comforting yet beginning to show age and rot.

Closing the door, she went to the bed and finally stripped off the dress. Stress marks glowed red on her skin and she removed her bra as well and then slipped the cool white fabric over her head.

She ached and knew that tomorrow would only bring worse pain as she began to heal. Yet, Cirice wasn't sad or angry. She was glad and excited. While everything was still hazy, as if she were wearing a veil that could only be lifted by time, she still felt a sense of comfort that she hadn't in so long. It suddenly made every night at Daddy Ben's and every group-home fight all the more worth it.

Cirice was finally home, and she refused to leave without answers.