It never fails to make me smile.

A hard coolness, focused, as sharp as a dagger's precise point. Left alone, it forms an emptiness, deep and cold, but I do not allow it to fester long enough. Instead, I channel it, a touch like ice flowing through my veins.

Sparks burst from the tips of my fingers, shortly followed by a flickering flame. But it is not amber and brightest orange, as fire should be. This flame is mine, and it is deepest black.

My smile appears then, an instinctive twitch, as I let the fire grow. It splits apart, tracing its gentle way across the back of my hand, then returning to my fingers as dark tendrils intertwine at my knuckles. I tip my hand, concentrating the flame so that it burns in the centre of my palm.

A sigh releases from my chest as I stare at it. With its silent smoulder, every clawing emotion within me falls as harmless ashes.

It is a curious thought: how my sole means of comfort is the very thing that keeps me here.

Letting the flame slide down to circle my forearm, I turn. A wall greets me. It is built of nothing but jagged rock, but it too is mine, and so I am grateful for it. My finger moves forward to trace the marks carved into it. Tiny lines grouped in fours, with a fifth striking each one to form my own rough tally.

I don't remember consciously deciding to stop adding to their numbers. All I know is at some point in time, I grew tired of counting the days I spent here. Or maybe I simply ran out of space.

I begin trying to count them, but before I can even reach one hundred, the faint warmth of my flame catches ahold of my thoughts. With a flick of my wrist, I send a trail of dark fire shooting from my fingertip. As soon as it reaches the hard ground, it blazes up, licking at the dry air with an unrestrained energy.

Eyes remaining fixed on it, hand twitching to maintain its flicker, I bend down, my knees scraping roughly on stone. I don't care for the pain. It never leaves a mark, anyway. Focused only on the flame, I let it spread to become a streak of deepest shadow, then wind it around, forming a series of fiery coils. I give it a head, a jaw, ebony eyes to meet my unwavering gaze.

A creature sits before me. A snake, if my fractured memory serves me. It hisses silently, stretching black fangs shaped of fire.

My fingers dance over its head, and it breaks from its coil, commencing a slow slither across the uneven ground. I lie beside it, paying the rock's scratch no attention. As it moves, I follow it, the ice in my veins gradually thawing with every crack of flame.

But we cannot travel far.

As I tilt sideways, still sliding along with the flaming snake, a hard press meets my shoulder. I stop, a twitch of my hand commanding the snake to do the same. My world is so small. It starts at the marked wall, and it ends here, at the opposite side of my cell.

With a sigh, I adjust myself, resting my back against the lattice of black bars. I reach for the snake, and it glides over my stretching legs, before rearing up to face me.

"At least I have you," I say. My finger traces its shadowed head, and I chuckle. Here I am, stroking a form of my own power as if it were a real creature.

The snake cocks its head sideways. I know its eyes are merely a mirror of my own, but they seem to examine me all the same.

"Yes, I know. I am a fool."

"Talking to yourself again?"

I'm on my feet in moments, whirling to face the bars. Outside my cell, a man stands, a smirk tugging at his lips. I feel a flush of embarrassment, then remind myself that their opinion of me was formed long before now, and meet his gaze evenly.

"I find myself good company," I say. Still, my hand slides behind my back, and I feel the snake disappear.

The man gives a small shake of his head. He crosses to the cell's rusted door, and I notice he holds a tray containing a few thick slices of buttered bread. In a practiced movement, he slots the tray through the hatch at the bottom of the door, and meets my eyes again as he stands.

We remain that way for a few seconds. It feels as if he's waiting for something, and so I wait too, my fingers interlocking behind my back.

Eventually, he steps forward. "You know, you might receive a little more company if you weren't so..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely at me.

"So what?" Fire bursts suddenly around my hands, and although I try to hold it back, I see his gaze dart to it. He flinches backwards.

"Hostile, perhaps," he snaps back, but the fear shines bright in his eyes.

"Oh, I do apologise." My words are tainted with venom. He is doing a wonderful job of proving why my own company is welcomed. "When you find a way to remove this, do let me know."

I hold my hand up, allowing my black flames to strike at the bars, and he takes another hesitant step back. My smile rises to the surface again.

"Stop that," he says. An order, most likely. I don't obey. "I'll tell the king that you threatened me," he adds, his tone a feeble attempt at menace.

I scoff and pull my hand away, though the flames keep burning at my side. "His highness can hardly combat me." In truth, I don't consider merely using my power a threat. The guards should know by now I have no intention of hurting them; if I did, I would have done so long before now.

Yet they fear me still. I clench my fist, and the fire shrinks.

The man eyes me nervously, though I sense his relief at the retracted fire. "Don't try anything," he warns. I snort a laugh, but he is already turning, his footsteps hollow and sharp as he makes his escape through the dark passage.

My flame ignites the moment he is gone. I twist it over my wrist. I suppose I should feel sorry for the guards that end up venturing down here. They must not be well-liked, or they wouldn't get given such an awful job. It's not like anyone in their right mind would choose to visit me.

Except one, but she is no guard.

Stepping back, I lie back against the wall, letting its grooves dig into my back. I stare out at the wiry bars and the darkness beyond. So much time down here alone, a time I have no means to measure, and I still cannot grow used to their fear. To me, my power feels so kind -- a welcome touch, like the brush of a cool breeze when all else threatens to burn my calm away.

But it is far from kind. I must remind myself of what its flames are capable of.

With a small shake of my head, I let the fire flare darker, hoping to lose myself in its blaze. But just as my eyes slide closed, the pad of soft footsteps send rippling echoes to fill my cell, a gentle warning of company.

I snap my fingers closed, hand tightening into a fist as the flame is extinguished. As the sound grows closer, I take a cautious step towards the bars, hardly daring to hope.

But I am correct in my hopeful wish. As I should be; I know her quiet step by now.

She rounds the corner, and any tension gathered in my shoulders instantly dissipates at the sight of her. She is only young, perhaps around my age -- whatever that number is now, its exact value has slipped my mind -- but she encompasses everything I cannot be. Her dress is the colour of sunshine. Her eyes are a soft, pale blue. Her golden hair, draped freely over her shoulders, seems to glow in the dim lamplight I see by. She is light itself, and it always amazes me that such a girl should find time to enter the place where there can only be darkness.

I am at the bars in moments, hands wrapping around the bars. My smile is warm. It is not an instinct as with my flames, but she draws those same feelings to the surface, the kind I can grow lost in.

Yet as she steps fully into the lamp's glow, my smile gradually sinks. Though she smiles back, its edges are strained, and the damp traces of tears highlight her delicate cheeks.

What reason would light have to cry?

"Are you okay?" I ask, not brave enough to lift my voice above a whisper.

"Oh, no. I'm quite alright," she says, the lilt that of a songbird. At least, what I imagine such beautiful birds to sound like. My memories of them are nothing more than faint imprints.

I cannot tell whether the light tone is forced. My gaze lingers on her tears. "Are you sure?"

She nods, her hand swiping at her cheeks. The glimmer of her eyes could easily be the beginnings of more tears, or simply her own light shining through. Whatever the case, I don't wish to push her any further.

We fall into a brief silence, but she soon breaks it, as always is the way. She has far more to say than I do. "I saw the first lapwing today."

"Lapwing?" I frown. I'm sure I recall her mentioning them, but what they are slips my mind.

"A bird," she supplies. "They always come when winter starts to set in, down from the mountains."

So it is winter already. It seems only yesterday she was telling me of the bright summer sunshine, and the emerald shine of the trees. I lean in closer. "What do lapwings look like?"

"They have a white chest, and brown feathers with streaks of green on their backs. They're quite pretty. My father doesn't think so, though. He calls them strutting pigeons." She laughs, and it's such a gentle sound I can't help but join her.

"Any bird is better than a pigeon," I say.

I'm only repeating her own comment back to her, but she giggles all the same. "Exactly. Oh, and lapwings also have this..." She pauses to gesture, tracing long coils jutting from the top of her head. "Like feathered crowns. That's how I recognise them."

"Crowns? Your father might have a point. They sound like show-offs."

"They are a bit," she admits, a spark in her eye. "But my favourite thing about them is the sound they make."

"You seem to know everything about lapwings," I remark. To me, she knows everything about everything, however, so perhaps I'm giving her a little too much credit. "Go on."

"In the country, they call them peewits. Because they make a sound like... pee-wit." She stretches out the first syllable and raises the pitch to form a shrieking bird call. She repeats it, and I mimic her, enjoying the way the noise wails.

Before I know it, we're calling like lapwings again and again, and then we're laughing, crouching down either side of the bars. The sound echoes throughout the halls, too loud, but I don't care. It's the perfect sound to fill the darkness. I don't want it to stop.

But eventually it has to. She sits down, her shoulder resting against black bars, and I join her. A final giggle escapes us both. With a jolt, I notice hers cut short. When I glance over at her, she's staring down at her hands. The sorrow that weighed on her as she walked in has returned all too quickly.

My joy ebbs away. I stare at her, then lick my lips. Do I ask her if she is okay again? But what is the question's purpose, when I can see she is hurting?

Several seconds tick by before she speaks. "I'll miss this," she says, voice fragile, without looking up at me.

Panic twists within me, a jabbing knife. I wrap my hand around a bar. "Are you..." I trail off, afraid to speak the fearful thought aloud. "Why?"

Finally, she glances up. The look in her eyes, so devoid of their blue light, is a claw of darkness I have to fight to keep from the surface. "They..."

She takes a deep breath. I hold mine. Her silence freezes me in place.

A single tear slips down her cheek. "They want to send me away."

Black sparks slip through my fingers. I grasp the bar tighter, battling more as they try to emerge. I'm determined not to let loose my cursed flame, not in front of her, but the cold within me is deep and sharp as ice.

I can't bring myself to respond. All I have is my own writhing panic, and beneath it all, a well of darkest dread.

"The fighting is getting worse," she says, gaze trained on the floor. Her flat tone, stripped of its lilting song, is another shivering blade to my spine. "They have to draft in everyone they can. I know I should join them, and I know it's right, but..." Her voice grows small, frail. "But I don't want to leave."

Every new word shudders through me. The fighting. Realisation dawns, and with it, a fresh rush of fear.

Only through her do I know of the war. Oscensi, our kingdom, and its struggle against another. The setbacks, the ruins, and the deaths. So many lives have been sacrificed already. So many have travelled to the battlefields, far out at the dwindling stronghold at the border, and never returned.

The girl before me could simply be another sacrifice. Another soldier to vanish forever.

It's only when she flinches away do I notice that flames have fought their way through my fingers, flickering easily through the bars. She jolts to her feet at the same time I wrench my hands away, my throat constricting.

"I... I'm sorry," I manage, clenching my fists until the fire retreats. This is her last visit, and I've managed to ruin it.

Yet more than ever I wish to let my flames flow without restraint. The darkness within me is excruciating, and when I look up at her, its flare rakes at my heart.

Slowly, I stand, keeping my distance from the bars. The fear in her eyes drifts away, more tears welling up to replace it.

"It's okay," she whispers, and this time it is her hand that wraps around a bar. Strands of her golden hair slip into my cell. She's so close. A part of me longs to reach over and tuck that hair behind her ear, or brush her tears away, or simply let my hand coil around hers. But I know such thoughts are futile.

"I wish you could come with me," she adds, the ghost of a smile passing over her. "I know it's silly, but..."

I can only nod. I wish it too. I wish it every time she walks from here, and every moment after. Now, that wish is tearing me apart.

It passes through my mind, a flicker of a dream that can never be. The thought of her on the battlefield isn't quite as terrible when I picture myself beside her. I could put my life to some use in fighting for Oscensi, in defending her. And if I died in the process, the world would be all the better for it.

I glance down at my hands, still speckled with darkness of my own making. She's right, it is silly. I am a far greater danger to her than any battle could be.

"Thank you," she says, and I look up to meet her eyes. She isn't crying anymore, and though the fallen tears still glimmer, her eyes are as bright as they can be. "For being here."

I chuckle dryly. "As if I can be anywhere else."

"You know that's not what I mean," she protests, but she is smiling. "You've been... my friend."

No fire can match the warmth that single word brings. I step forward. We are so close now, with only the bars and a thin stretch of safety between us. It would be so easy to reach out and touch her, but so difficult to keep hold of her afterward.

"And you mine," I say. My voice is trembling. I doubt I can regain control of it, so I don't try. "I should be thanking you. I..."

A shout cuts me off, booming from far ahead. It is shapeless, but she straightens at its echo, casting a nervous glance upwards. "I need to go."

I nod. The thought is a bitter taste to my tongue, and painful to swallow. She retracts from the bars, but I follow her, grabbing for them as if the motion will tug her back towards me. She hesitates, rocking back on her heels. Her will to leave is fragile.

"I'll come back," she says. The birdsong is precise, the notes strong and fierce. "I promise. I'll come back when the war is won, and I'll get you out of there."

Her words jolt through me. They should sound overly optimistic, even ridiculous. She has told me of how far victory is from grasp. And even if we were to win, the likelihood of me ever stepping outside of this cell is incredibly slight.

Yet in that moment, I can't help but share her surety. "I know you will. I trust you."

Her hand reaches out to rest on the bar beside me, the barest distance between us. A spurt of flame could stretch out to sweep over her skin so easily. But I remain still. She trusts me too.

The booming voice sounds again, closer this time. She jerks backwards, and regret weighs on my shoulders. I stare after her. This could be the last time I ever see her. What do I say?

No, not the last time. She will return. I have faith in her promise.

Our parting is soundless. One last sunbeam of a smile, and she is gone, lost to the shadows.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun fact: Oscensi comes from 'oscen', the word for songbird in Latin. When I was first posting this book, I copied over the blurb I'd written to realise I still had the kingdom name marked as [something] xD So I had to hurriedly come up with a name, and if in doubt, Latin is always a great provider of cool words. Oscensi's symbol is a white bird, so it does fit.

First chapter, and we're staring off with angsty fluff xD This is part one of the two scenes that made up my dream one-shot, plus a bit extra with the guard. My boy and his girl are so cute *insert bulbacry* They break my heart whenever I think about them, which is pretty much every other moment of my day.

Also black flames are so cool. I want them, except I don't.

- Pup