Luvia
π©β‘πͺ
- Joined
- Aug 6, 2021
Baking bread? Him, a baker?
This new information made her smile. She almost couldn't imagine that. Dimitri looked nothing like the part, more like a rogue or pretty thief, one she'd fall for and lose all her gold to.
He would stand out amidst a modest bakery, surrounded by flour and butter and mouth-watering pastries. Why did she imagine him as clumsy and delightfully ungraceful? His height seemed like it could easily work against him. Put him in a cramped place and it would make for an easy spell to bring about chaos and absolute disaster. Fiamma chuckled at the thought, though she didn't share it.
Then againβshe'd seen him wield that spear of his. The man knew how to move, alright.
As silly as it was, she had never actually considered the fact that he had a family, not until now.
Just like her, he'd been taken from his loved ones, though contrary to her, Dimitri must have been enlisted to the war much later. It meant that he very much remembered his family, knew them well by name and face and shape and heart.
Guilt gnawed at her once more as a result, though it was his hand that suddenly warmed hers that distracted her from herself.
Oh.
A knowing look passed her eyes as she regarded the gesture.
Was he able to sense her inner turmoil? Was it her magic spurring him on? Or had he reached out because⦠he wanted to be closer to her?
Why did that feel so comforting and good?
Why was his mere presence affecting her so much?
She responded by giving his hand a light and reciprocating squeeze in return. She felt clumsy, expressing affection like this.
Their journey together was teaching her a lot of wonderful new things, one of those being that she was starting to express herself more freely. No one was here to judge her as the Golden Destroyer. She didn't have to be strong and fearless. She didn't even have her magic. All Fiamma could do was listen to that silent voice in her heart and act on it, if she so wished.
A moment of clarity hit her, shaking her deeply to her very core and soul.
Did she think that⦠this was much better than going back? She wasn't donning Incanda's colors anymore. Did she prefer it this way?
Dimitri's question made her ponder about this in more detail.
Who was she?
Who was she if not a magical war weapon? Who was she to Hela, who'd long stopped treating her with affection like this? Who was she to all those people who had joined her sister's cause? A hero, a symbol of hope?
No, what about Fiamma as a woman?
It embarrassed her that she had no immediate answer to give him.
"I⦠I don't know," instead of putting on airs, she shared her thought process with him.
"I was taken from my home when I was but a young child. I don't remember what my parents did or what that young version of me liked or disliked. All I know is stupid old men who ravaged and took and plundered and defiled."
Her tone became grim, her eyes refusing to meet his for some reason.
"If I try to remember what brought me joy, there are very few things that come to mind. Butβ¦"
She hadn't even noticed that her body was tense until she let loose of a long exhale. Her shoulders slumped and she relaxed again.
"Flowers. I think I really like flowers. I've seen glimpses of some whenever Kasaran paraded me around banquets to either impress or intimidate his men. I once snuck one with me, back to where he kept me. It was a beautiful purple color. It died and withered with nothing to sustain it, however. If I could learn how to grow and tend for flowers like that? I think I might be doing that."
It was almost laughable, really. She was a girl who was known for being destructive and wild. She of all people wanted to take care of something as fragile and delicate as flowers?
Her cheeks burned at that realization. She waited for him to laugh at her. Everyone else would have.
This new information made her smile. She almost couldn't imagine that. Dimitri looked nothing like the part, more like a rogue or pretty thief, one she'd fall for and lose all her gold to.
He would stand out amidst a modest bakery, surrounded by flour and butter and mouth-watering pastries. Why did she imagine him as clumsy and delightfully ungraceful? His height seemed like it could easily work against him. Put him in a cramped place and it would make for an easy spell to bring about chaos and absolute disaster. Fiamma chuckled at the thought, though she didn't share it.
Then againβshe'd seen him wield that spear of his. The man knew how to move, alright.
As silly as it was, she had never actually considered the fact that he had a family, not until now.
Just like her, he'd been taken from his loved ones, though contrary to her, Dimitri must have been enlisted to the war much later. It meant that he very much remembered his family, knew them well by name and face and shape and heart.
Guilt gnawed at her once more as a result, though it was his hand that suddenly warmed hers that distracted her from herself.
Oh.
A knowing look passed her eyes as she regarded the gesture.
Was he able to sense her inner turmoil? Was it her magic spurring him on? Or had he reached out because⦠he wanted to be closer to her?
Why did that feel so comforting and good?
Why was his mere presence affecting her so much?
She responded by giving his hand a light and reciprocating squeeze in return. She felt clumsy, expressing affection like this.
Their journey together was teaching her a lot of wonderful new things, one of those being that she was starting to express herself more freely. No one was here to judge her as the Golden Destroyer. She didn't have to be strong and fearless. She didn't even have her magic. All Fiamma could do was listen to that silent voice in her heart and act on it, if she so wished.
A moment of clarity hit her, shaking her deeply to her very core and soul.
Did she think that⦠this was much better than going back? She wasn't donning Incanda's colors anymore. Did she prefer it this way?
Dimitri's question made her ponder about this in more detail.
Who was she?
Who was she if not a magical war weapon? Who was she to Hela, who'd long stopped treating her with affection like this? Who was she to all those people who had joined her sister's cause? A hero, a symbol of hope?
No, what about Fiamma as a woman?
It embarrassed her that she had no immediate answer to give him.
"I⦠I don't know," instead of putting on airs, she shared her thought process with him.
"I was taken from my home when I was but a young child. I don't remember what my parents did or what that young version of me liked or disliked. All I know is stupid old men who ravaged and took and plundered and defiled."
Her tone became grim, her eyes refusing to meet his for some reason.
"If I try to remember what brought me joy, there are very few things that come to mind. Butβ¦"
She hadn't even noticed that her body was tense until she let loose of a long exhale. Her shoulders slumped and she relaxed again.
"Flowers. I think I really like flowers. I've seen glimpses of some whenever Kasaran paraded me around banquets to either impress or intimidate his men. I once snuck one with me, back to where he kept me. It was a beautiful purple color. It died and withered with nothing to sustain it, however. If I could learn how to grow and tend for flowers like that? I think I might be doing that."
It was almost laughable, really. She was a girl who was known for being destructive and wild. She of all people wanted to take care of something as fragile and delicate as flowers?
Her cheeks burned at that realization. She waited for him to laugh at her. Everyone else would have.