#calialiel

A sad courtier, commission for Calialiel!

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She sat curled by the fire, watching it hiss and spit as sapblood dripped into its embrace. She grasped the end of a long piece of her bark, nudging it into the fire as the sap traced down her leg in golden rivers. 

It hurt but not nearly as bad as her heart did.

Calia stretched out the limb she was cutting from, peeling her body like she was peeling a potato. Her right hand was a mangled mess, cradled in her lap as her left cut herself from hip to knee.

Every part he touched must go.

The fire spat at her, a shower of sparks landing upon her arm as another chunk of her skin burned to ashes. Fingers fumbled, groping outwards in search of something, grasping the neck of a bottle drinking until the burning in her throat matched the burning from her wounds.

The bottle slipped from her fingers, toppling over and spilling across the floor. The fire shot upwards with her rage, the force of the small explosion blowing ash into the room. With nary a thought she maneuver her body around the metal grate and crawled into the flames. She pressed herself into the back of the fireplace, slamming her fists against the stone. They cracked from her assault, pieces of stone sent flying. It was hurt fault. All of it. All of this.

"You ever consider killing her?" The Duke of Thorns asked, in a manner that was far too casual for the subject. It didn't even register. "Rather, what could I give you to kill her?" They twirled as she led him around her living room, waltzing to the soft music bubbling from the gramophone. She stared past him, the room's colors blurring.

"Yes." She admitted. Who didn't think about killing their spouse? "But I love her. She makes me feel safe. She makes me powerful. I don't think there is anything that I would want more."

"You should kill her. Consider it an act of mercy, to put down an old dog. There is a certain bliss in taking someone's life." The dance stopped as abruptly as it had begun, Calia took a step forward her nose inches from his mask. "Shall we find out? I've always wanted to kill a king. Don't worry... you'll be remembered. I'll paint your corpse." 

Kashti took the lead now, moving them backwards until Calialiel's back hit the wall and he held her hands above her head. She boiled with rage, the fire that had started growing her palms fizzling out, a spell of his cancelling out hers. His voice is cold, deadly serious. "Now I'm going to paint your corpse."

She laughed. If he wanted to kill her, she would be dead and she told him so. "Good point." Abruptly he released her left hand, gloved fingers curling around the hilt of an ethereal blade at his hip. "Don't you dare-!"

The steel bit up the length of her leg, scoring a thin slice all the way up to her hip. She hissed, embers flying out from between her teeth as her foot connected with his abdomen, sending him backwards. He ruined her dress. "What is the purpose of this?"

She watched her blood drip from his sword into the carpet. "You said if I harmed you I'd rot." He lifted the blade, pointing it at her chest from across the room. "Am I going to rot?" A flick of her wrist. A flash of lightning. The Duke of Thorns contorting in agony. When the spell ended he charged and she moved out of the way, a potted plant sliding off a table as he collided with the wall.

That was that. He sheathed his blade. She dropped her hands. Moments later they were touching again. She rested her head on his chest as he caressed the wound that he'd made, saturating his glove with her blood. "Lecher." She accused.

I've missed writing you letters. I've been busy, just as I think you have been. Are you well? You seemed a little strange, last time we talked. Nahuel didn't really soothe my fears when I spoke with him, although I do enjoy his company. Does he treat you well? He seems like such a sweet man (and Mother Tree isn't he beautiful?) but I've seen a lot of sweet people stab others in the back. I do not wish to see you hurt in any way.

What have I been up to? Training. Fighting. I'm very displeased with my progress, to be honest. I dislike working with the PACT, but I've never done well following orders from people who just wave a rank over my head. I've not gotten anyone killed yet, thankfully, but I rarely see much action. A wolf here and there. A few husks. Mordrem aren't nearly as flammable as I thought they'd be, sadly.

Firebird is well. She looks so healthy now and she's kind enough to make sure I eat. Even breakfast in bed sometimes. I don't deserve her at all. Her smiles should be for someone who's less gloomy. Maybe she's into that, though. I don't know, I've never read her erotic novels. I feel like that's an invasion of privacy.

Did I tell you about the pet rat? His name is Shirely. A little odd for a male, I suppose, but it's not like the rat can understand language. He's quite energetic, and we don't keep him confined or anything. I do sometimes worry that he'll get eaten by a cat, though. That would break my heart, I've grown attached to having him sitting on my shoulder or burrowing in my fronds. The only downside is when he pees on me.

How are you, Rosie? Are you okay health wise? Mentally? Physically? Is your business well? Is Nahuel alright? You've not gotten so high that you're permanently hallucinating quaggans with charrzookas? The intent of that was to sound scary and unpleasant, but the more I think about it, quaggans with large charr war weapons seems rather hilarious. Quagganzookas!

With all my love, Firefly