Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i. We can fight our desires,

but then we start making fires. . 

      She flees the night of the Fete, grief, and betrayal sinking their claws into her heart.

     Baghra's words still ring in her memory. Words that bring her world tumbling down.

    She blinks rapidly against unshed tears. Love that had once been a flame dies in its embers, smothered by shadow. She snuffs it out, taking its life in the curl of her fist, and the effort deals a blow to her own heart, like a knife striking flint to scatter sparks.

    She crushes the bud before it has bloomed, for she has seen his darkness and knows she is doomed.

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ii. We get ever so hot,

Whether you like it or not. . .

      He trembles as he yanks out the blade she has thrust into his hand, quivering against the pain that blazes in his palm.  He's cradling the injured limb to his chest when she speaks. 

     "This is who I am."

      She lifts her head with the majesty of a queen and draws on the power deep within her. Her light blazes, blinding white in the Fold's darkness, and he remembers her display at the Fete.  She'd gazed at him, bestowing a smile fairer than the dawn.

     What was once the soft beauty of a new day rising is now the scalding, blinding light of the sun in its totality.  

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iii. They say we can love who we trust,

But what is love without lust?

      She shifts in the bed, fist clenching around the covers.  Brows furrow slightly, and eyes flutter beneath closed lids.

      She dreams.

          "Alina." Her eyes fly open to hear that voice, his voice. She blinks several times, finds herself still in darkness, but not in bed. Dim light glows in her peripheral, casting golden warmth in the midst of the shadows.  She turns, seeking the source, and fabric rustles against her skin. A kefta. She's wearing a kefta, Etherialki blue with gold that gleams in the soft light. 

     Something brushes her cheek, an almost caressing gesture, but she cannot see in the darkness and startles, recoiling. He tsks at her from the darkness, and a shiver crawls down her spine. "You should know by know, Alina," he says. She can hear the smile in his voice and wonders if the sight of it is still pleasant or whether the volcras' claws have marred his handsome features. "You needn't fear me."

        "I'm not afraid of you," she growls, still searching the darkness for any sign of him. "I loved you once, I trusted you."  A breath of wind tickles her cheek; it's warm. She realizes, belatedly, it is he. He's much closer now, behind her. A hand gently wraps around hers, and she jerks away instinctively, her fingers brushing against his palm.

       "Did you?" His breath tickles her ear,and she resists the urge to shiver. He takes her hand in both of his, spreading her fingers out in his palm. Her thumb brushes the hardened ridges of scar tissue, and she remembers. "Your parting gift to me, remember?" 

       "Not anymore," she answers to his previous question. If the answer wounds him, she knows only by the way he swiftly releases her hand. "I love Mal." The words are quiet, whispered, weak. She does not truly believe them herself but forces the halfhearted lie out to drive him away. Tears prick at her lashes.

   Had she known love? Is it love to give your heart, your soul, your being to lies, half-spoken truths and endless, desolate darkness?

   She thinks not.  She had loved the Darkling, once, in what now feels like another life. Was it truly love? she asks herself, or something else entirely? Her mind flashes to the kiss the night of the Fete. The feelings she has for Mal are nothing that can hold a candle to what she felt for him then. 

       "Ah. He is most precious to you, now, isn't he?" His tone is mocking, but she wonders whether there is a sliver of jealousy beneath it.  Her heart skips a beat. The rebellious creature aches, and she remembers what once was. No, she decides, he cannot do this now.  "I offered you power once, do you remember?" Her hand wanders to the antlers embedded in her flesh. She can never forget. "I would offer it to you again, I would make you a queen, Alina."

      "I could never--"

      "But with power comes sacrifice," he continues, unperturbed. He shifts, and she can see him now, standing in front of her.  His eyes glint in the dim light. "Are you willing to sacrifice that which is most precious to you?" 

     He reaches out to stroke the side of her face, hesitantly as if expecting her to withdraw. She stills. Every fibre of her being screams at her to run, to sever the connection, but the traitorous heart between her ribs beats a different rhythm. "Like calls to like," he whispers into her ear. "You'll see." He withdraws slightly, his eyes searching hers before flitting to her parted lips. 

    She does not move, but her heart hammers furiously against her sternum. Maybe he hears it, maybe this is why his lips curve in a small smile. "It isn't real," he mumbles, "Let me." The hand he'd brought up to caress her now cradles her chin, tilting her head up slightly as he leans down and kisses her softly.  Barely has she felt the contact when her power ignites, his amplification calling to the light within her. Warmth suffuses her, and the last thing she sees is light, searing, blinding light.

    She wakes with a gasp, panting heavily, and looks around. She is still in the bed, in the darkness of the night. He is not here. "It isn't real," he'd said. Had that been a dream? She still feels the kiss he has left her with, and doubt sinks sharp claws into her soul. It wasn't real, she muses. It couldn't have been.