And So, The Candle Burns

Shame weighed down her body like waterlogged feathers, and her steadily constricting throat reminded her so much so of the feeling of swallowing ash. If she closed her eyes, she could even imagine the fire nipping at her heels. However, unlike the flames which she knew so well, this fire had a name and fierce violet eyes.

“If anyone asks, you won.”

Hyperion's words echoed in her skull in a twisted mantra, enforcing a reality which would never truly exist. They burned her, searing away stray threads of confidence and hope.

“You won.”

“You won.”

The mantra filled every corner and crack of the empty shipment container which she had claimed as her own, bouncing off the metal like the faint ringing of her father's claws as he disappeared out of her makeshift den. Silence burned in his wake, though her mind was anything but silent. Each word, each pointed stare haunted her mind as she slowly laid her head down upon the nest of feathers and moss.

Fade had helped build it, she guessed. For it had a few of her favorite shells dotting it. Perhaps Simon had given his input, he always knew her so well.

However, even without Hyperion there she could feel his gaze charring her pelt. No matter which way she rolled or turned. 

“You won.”

But she hadn't won, Heron had been laid out upon the bloody sand like a dying animal. His words, his sick mantra, coated her lungs in a thick layer of suffocating ash. She had expected his response, she truly had she’d hoped for something different; Heron had hoped to feel his larger form curl around her and shield her from the prying eyes of those who dare peer inside. Instead, she had simply been left to cool like the long forgotten cinders outside her den.

Did her father really see her like that? Like slowly dying coals that had lost their heat? Did he see her like a flickering blaze in comparison to his raging inferno?

Heron tucked her head under her curved claws, slowly exhaling as she internally pushed away images of fires and cinders. She was fine. Fine. Fine-

The click of claws interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

He entered her den silently, like the quiet trickling of a stream. His large body settled next to hers, cool droplets chasing away the pain of the burn.

“This doesn't define you.” Fade’s voice echoed against the quiet metal, and her body shifted to face her head away from him. Though she was careful not to shift weight onto her throbbing side. “Your scars, his words, do not define you.” She listened to him speak without a word. 

“...I failed.” She spoke, finally shattering the quiet which she had been stewing in since Hyperion's blazing words.

“You survived.” Fade countered. However this did not soothe the fire which had been stoked in her chest. Passed to her by her father's rage like passing a candle from one to another. She growled, all hurt and no true heat. She did not wish to burn her uncle, did not wish to use her words to char and sear like her father had done countless times. However, despite her growls and half hearted glares, he stayed at her side.

Outside her cold and empty den there were remnants of a flame. Of an explosion which had happened when she was smaller. She felt much like those remnants of a once great blaze, like ash billowing away in the wind. 

Heron twisted her body and shoved her nose into the welcome warmth of Fade’s feathers. He was not a raging inferno, but he was not the icy cold of her mother. Fade was pleasantly warm, cozy. Like her carefully built nest of feathers and moss.

“I want my Dad.” The words were hushed as the tears stung her eye and blurred her vision. It was the wish of a chick, her father had been right here and done nothing to soothe her aches. If anything his words had only brought further pain with his blazing tongue.

Fade’s head rested softly atop hers and his tail wrapped around her body, fully encasing her in that comfortable warmth. Claws wove through her feathers so carefully, avoiding any spots which may be tender or sore.

“I know.” He rumbled quietly, the words reverberating in his chest as he spoke. They both knew how Hyperion was, how Heron had been raised.

They both knew that her hope of his unconditional love was nothing but a fairytale whispered to make herself feel better on nights when the cold bit at her feathers. However there was no cold now. Just the fresh flames of shame and the nipping inferno of blazing violet eyes.

For now. She would rest. In the comfortable embrace of the one who would diligently soothe her burns.