Okay I saw this really cool prompt and I just had to write it.

This one is a little different than my other oneshots. It's in present tense, for one, but it's also not about any of the main characters.

It's still kotlc, but it's about a little girl and her parents and their reaction to the Neverseen.

TW: offpage death, fire, nightmares

It never rains in the Lost Cities, so there is no thunder for the little girl to wake up to.

There is no reason for her to pad quickly to her parent's bedroom, stuffed animal clutched tightly in her small hands.

No reason, other than the flames that choke her throat and sear her skin.

Even though she can't feel the evidence of the thick smoke on her skin as she hurries to the safety of her mother's arms, the little girl knows they must be there, and she might not make it in time.

She might be only ashes by the time she reaches her parent's room.

The flames might still be trailing from her skin, the little girl thinks in fear. Only her parents will know how to put them out. They make everything better; they can fix this.

So she hurries on, opening the door and climbing into her parents' bed.

Her father awakens before her mother, lifting his head to ask what happened.

The little girl shakes her head, and maybe he sees her tearstained cheeks because he shakes her mother's shoulder quickly, whispering a quick explanation to her in a croaky voice.

"Baby," he whispers to his daughter as his wife comes fully awake. "What's wrong? Couldn't sleep?"

It was then that the little girl realizes the flames aren't real.

Not for her.

"I had a nightmare," she tells her father, hugging her stuffed t-rex to her chest as she snuggles into her mother's warm arms. "I was on fire."

Her parents exchange a glance, but she doesn't see the concern that crosses their faces.

"Again? The same one as before?" her mother asks, whisking a wisp of hair from her daughter's wet cheek.

The little girl nods, and tears well up in her eyes, even though she shouldn't be scared anymore. She is awake, there is no more fire, but she still remembers the yellow flames licking up to the sky.

(Everblaze, she'd heard her parents murmur to each other)

"It wasn't real, baby," her father tries to comfort her, rubbing her back gently. She relaxes a little more at his touch, pulling the blankets up to her chin. "You're safe."

The little girl believes him, and her eyes droop into sleep again as she lets out a little sigh and cuddles further into her mother. Her parents stare at each other over her head.

Neither of them are telepaths, but they can communicate just fine.

This is the third time this week their daughter has woken up in the night with dreams of being burned alive.

They don't know if safety is something they can promise anymore.

...

The little girl colors happily in her little notebook. She's almost forgotten about the dream, but there's still something about the fire that calls her.

Terrifies her, even as she wants to see more.

Her parents speak in the next room, a little louder than usual. The little girl hears her name and perks up her ears, thinking about the colors she'd asked for last time they'd been to Atlantis. Maybe they will be a present for her birthday, which is coming up soon.

But she doesn't fully understand their words, which are not about her upcoming birthday party.

"A Councillor died," her father reminds her mother. "If they're not safe, with their bodyguards and titles and fancy castles, what about us?"

"This was a special circumstance," her mother retorts, even though there is fear in her voice that tells the little girl she agrees with her husband. "It was that girl, and the pyrokinetic. The healing, it never should have happened. They started the fire."

"Too close," her husband warns. "Too close. We saw the flames! She saw the flames, and now she wakes up with nightmares several times a week! I go to work, I hear the same things; people are scared. We're supposed to be safe here. We don't have any fancy bodyguards to protect us."

The little girl pauses her coloring, wrinkling her nose as she remembers that day.

She'd seen the fire first, pointing at the colors with her pencil.

("look, mommy!" she'd shrieked. "there are colors in the sky!")

(her mother had laughed, following her gaze. then a scream, one the little girl didn't understand, because the sky was pretty and the only time her mom had made that sound before, her daughter had fallen off her chair and hit her head on the ground)

(it was fear, the little girl vaguely recognized, but there was no reason to be scared)

(the colors in the sky energized the little girl, and she couldn't seem to stop watching them)

"I know," her mother says, sounding tired. Too tired; her mother was never tired, always ready to play with her. "But what are we supposed to do? The- the Neverseen, whoever they are, they've killed a member of the Council. No one is safe anymore."

That is an ugly word, the little girl thinks. Kill. She doesn't quite know what it means, but she doesn't like it anyway.

If she could make the fire, she thinks, maybe her mother wouldn't be so tired. Maybe she wouldn't be scared of being devoured by the flames if they followed her daughter's commands.

A nice fantasy.

Her parents came into the room, and her father made a strange sound in his throat when he saw what she'd been drawing. He showed her mother, and the little girl stares at them her min confusion as her mother claps a hand over her mouth.

She doesn't understand what's so bad about what she's drawn.

She doesn't get her picture back, and her father rips it to pieces later, when she's asleep.

Because his daughter has drawn the reds and yellows of fire, the sparks and leaping flames she's seen in her dreams.

Her mother swears she could almost feel a heat radiating from the paper when she held it.

It is ripped to pieces because her father is scared, the little girl understands when she finds it in the trash can the next day. She doesn't mind.

She can always make another.

Her parents watch her draw with fear, now.

(there is fire and smoke and dreams and nothing ever rises from the ashes)

Pretty cool, yeah?