A/N: I've got to start writing my post-war Ursai fic.
Ash
On Ember Island there is a house with a tree. Hanging boughs, protruding roots, their initials scorched into the bark as strong as the first kiss. A passion like raised tattoos.
Footfalls of children echo along the halls like a window blown open by the sea. Apparitions of happier days follow crests and troughs as the wind picks up speed and threatens to topple the baby's cradle.
A taut bowstring, the tension in her muscles as she holds the arrow in the air for practice, slices the dragonfruit and guavas while humming a tune. The son settles in her lap while the father preaches.
Sparks and flakes in a fire on an evening by the beach. She would weep if she knew, the desecration of a sacred place accompanied by a lack of regret.