Disclaimer: Neither Fairy Tail, nor any thus related material, belongs to me, and I make no claim to it whatsoever. I'm only taking the characters out to play for a little while, and promise to return them home before dinner.
A/N: Hallo all, Aradel here. So it seems that I've been on a Fairy Tail stint of late...a fact which was confirmed today when I found myself vignette-ing in Statistics class, when I should have been listening to lecture. Whoops... In any case, I'd love to hear what you think of this! Whether it's good, bad, half-way-sorta-maybe decent... I'd love to hear from you. Most importantly though, I hope that you enjoy reading!
Blood and Flame
She looked like flame. Like flame, and like the blood that had flooded his world, drowning the sky and the earth – the blood that had borne him up and away, carrying him far across the blue waves, and the black, and had left him here in this dark, cold hole of shadow and stone. She reminded him…and he hated her for it.
He hated the way she sat curled in the corner, with her legs drawn up to her chest, as if she was afraid (for how could the blood that had taken so much from him be afraid? What right did she have?). He hated the way she shivered with the cold (for how could flame feel chill?), and the way she hid her face and clenched her hands…hands that bore flakes of red that were turning brown, hands that bore blisters and burns. He hated her…hated her more than he'd hated anything. He hated her, because she reminded him – reminded him of things he wanted to forget.
But then…
But then she looked up at him, and their eyes met. And the glare and the bitter scowl he had meant to sneer at her – the hatred and fury he had wanted to show – failed on his lips.
She smiled hesitantly – smiled, despite the blood on her face and the burns on her hands – as their eyes met. And he was shocked, for he saw that she was crying, tears clinging to her lashes and making her eyes gleam unnaturally bright in the ruddy glow of the torches. The blood that had taken him had not cried even as the crushing rivers had drowned those he loved. And flame…how could flame weep?
And for an instant – if only for a single breath – it seemed to him that the darkness lightened, and that the cold retreated, if only a little.
And he found he could not hate her.
So when the time came, and at last heard her speak and say her name (even her name sounded of fire, he thought), he found a new name tumbling from his lips.
The color of blood is crimson; the color of fire is red. But scarlet… Scarlet was the color of her hair.