For Sara. Thank you for housing me; i like your face when its in front of me.
the song of fireflies
/
Happiness, she manages to hiss into the depths of her mind, is nonexistent.
It is a thought that has always resounded under her skin, making the hot lava of her blood bubble and burn, steam her mind and cause that frown to always tilt her lips downwards. Happiness is superficial; thin and fragile and so easily gone when it takes years of struggles to achieve.
She's always wished to be wrong and, for the most part, she'd believe she'd been proven wrong. She'd lose it in the way her Princess would rest her head on Venus' lap, the way Venus would stroke those long pigtails and smile down at her like a sure protector.
She'd forget about the lies that happiness is clouded with when Jupiter snuck a moon peach into the Princess' chamber even after she'd had too much, when Mercury would whisper stories of the planets farther into the galaxy, blue eyes bright.
And she'd forget the accusations when Princess Serenity would always turn towards her last, her eyes glittering and her full lips in a quiet smile, the way her hand would ghost against hers, their fingers interlocking for a split second, the quiet thank you.
She should have known she was right.
Mars is always right.
Happiness is nonexistent and now the sick stench of death lingers around the palace. Her steps are hurried, heels clacking like a countdown, like a metronome. Her violet eyes are fierce and so filled with rage as she watches the chaos.
Youma invade, Moon people are slaughtered and her sisters move to their positions—positions talked and reminded time and time again for hundreds of years in case of any and all attack, positions that are as engraved in their veins as their blood is.
Jupiter and Mercury sprint back into the palace, their eyes dull with concentration, worry and inexplicable anger. Venus is lost amongst the chaos and, at the thought, Mars sprints.
Her hands cup and curl as fireballs breathe into life with a ferocious roar, splitting the sound barrier and causing the crystal pillars to shake with their anger as they zoom through the air, engulfing up to four youma at once.
She repeats the action, arching her back as she leans backwards when specifically larger youma make to attack her. It is then that Mars grows brutal; her fire burns hotter, larger, angrier and out of control, using it as leverage to move through the disgusting beasts that threaten to devour her.
There will be no dying—not until she's cleared the Moon and has kept her Princess safe. Then, she will gladly cease to burn, letting the Fire consume her and link them as once.
But, until then, she swiftly moves, blows lethal, fire hungry.
It isn't long before she sees Venus all gold and silver, sword out to play and blue eyes something fierce. Mars moves to stand behind her, throwing fireballs and fire arrows alike without any hesitance.
"Jupiter?" Venus manages to ask.
"With the Princess along with Mercury," Mars hisses, anger rising up to its highest peak. She feels burning hot, uncontrollable and limbs shaky as she threatens to melt into pure wrathful fire.
She knows that, behind her, Venus is no different.
It's how they have always been. Venus is cool rage; bright like gold and cold like silver—more calm, more collected, more into making you hate yourself before she ever can.
Mars is all about the eruption. Lava bubbling up and up and up until she erupts and takes everything down with her—selfish and all consuming.
"They're not decreasing," she says aloud, aiming an arrow to the youma's forehead.
Venus presses her back to hers, her sword singing as it grazes the soiled ground. "Move to the towers, you'll cover more ground. I'll handle them from down here."
It's suicide.
Mars opens her mouth to decline and pauses as her eyes flash. She blindly aims a fireball at her enemy as she lets it all sink in, more fuel for the wildfire inside her. Ah, so there is no helping it, then.
She moves to her new position but not before sparing Venus one last glance.
And when she reaches the balcony of the highest tower, she watches the way her sister battles not just the youma, but also a silver-haired man from Terra. Men are frivolous, traitorous things, she decides as it all makes sense, as she pulls an arm back, a bow and arrow made of the reddest of fire appearing before her.
She aims and sends it flying, one, two, three—one after another after another without a second in between. Mars closes her eyes, greedily sucking in air, moving her forelocks from her eyes, sending more fire to the hell below.
She should have seen this coming.
She should have seen a lot of things coming.
Below, Venus perishes but not before taking the man with her, a sword for a sword, hands clawing at his paling face, thumbs pushing at his eyeballs, golden lips stained red with blood as she sinks to the ground.
Mars has no time to mourn her closest sister.
Her onslaught comes more brilliant, then. She burns her brightest when her rage reaches its peak, when sorrow and loss mix in with wrath and become one, when all duty, thought and sense leaves her mind and all she wants is for the enemy to be gone.
She burns like the brightest, richest, rarest fire of Mars. She burns like a true Martian, glows like a star that explodes before it ever got a chance.
Her breath hitches, blood bubbles up her throat and her violet hair dances around her like a protective barrier that has been breached. With fire still glowing on her hands, she looks down at the edge of the sword that pierces right through her.
Ah, yes…. That's right… There was no helping it after all.
She coughs, bubbles of blood popping at the edge of her lips. She laughs—where is her precious Fire to save her now? She wishes she knew. She gasps as the sword is pulled out.
She hears: "Witch."
She laughs as she is pushed forward and off the balcony.
Happiness does not exist and her Princess will fall along with the Queen before her and the palace that has tucked all the laughs and promises and pure love into its cracks.
Mars rolls her eyes back, accepting she's burned out too fast.
They had no chance.