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[firesongs-mirror]

( insp. )

[firesongs-mirror]

the heretic

I rewrote this at least ten times over the last year and here is my final version (although still not entirely happy with it) (did i publish this already?) (i hope not)

-

The heretic sleeps on a throne made of sin,

Her weakness believes that religion will win.

Covered in blood and drowning in stars,

Her soul is marred with invisible scars.

Will she prevail, or fade from this life?

Religion threatens with a stone and a knife.

If she awakes, as a god she’ll ascend;

Or Chaos will take her to all worlds’ final end.

[firesongs-mirror]

THE WAY OF KINGS Characters I

This is finally done! It took me nearly three months… whoa! Seven POV characters from The Way of Kings - Wit, Kaladin, Shallan, Dalinar, Szeth, Navani, Adolin. Another five characters (Jasnah, Renarin, Elhokar, Sadeas, Taravangian) are also included, but I tend to put them elsewhere. When they’re finished, I’ll update the pictures and links here. =)

Hope this doesn’t look so terrible! Thank you all !

LINKS

Original sketch: [X] | Full resolution: [X] | Another long panel version of this piece: [X] | dA: [X] | To view certain character: [X]

NOTES (The quotes)

The King’s Wit / Hoid ”The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.” (Chapter 57) Kaladin Stormblessed ”I will protect those who cannot protect themselves.“ (Chapter 67) Shallan Davar ”What am I? I’m terrified.” (Chapter 45) Dalinar Kholin ”I will unite them.“ (Chapter 75) Szeth Son-Son-Vallano ”Nothing makes sense anymore.” (Prologue) Navani Kholin ”Something from nothing. The soul of creation.“ (Chapter 69) Adolin Kholin ”I was a fool for fighting you on it every step along the path.” (Chapter 66)

[firesongs-mirror]

La Belle et La Bête (Soft Suffering 7)

This doesn’t exactly mirror my Soft Suffering 6 thing but it’s rather close especially the beginning but not really the end (in the story there will be more stuff) (and yes i’ll finish that)

--

Stupid boy! He dares to claim That I should simply let him go? When he shot me with an arrow While I was walking all alone?

No forgiveness! I must punish The boy who stalked my woods at night. He will heal what he’s inflicted And then I’ll make him leave my sight.

My servants, Lumière and Horloge, Will enforce the boy’s compliance. I’m sure they’ll place him in a tower Like Rapunzel for her defiance.

What is this! They dared to give him The finest rooms in all my castle? The other servants dressed him so He looks a prince, and not a vassal!


What’s done is done. I summon him To check my wound for an infection. He gives me wine to help relax me; I see no reason for objection.

Craftily, he asks me why I live in an enchanted castle. Staring into his green eyes I slowly begin to answer -

No! No! My stupour scatters Enraged, I strike him from my dorm! How dare he try to trick me into Telling the truth of my beastly form!

I almost call for his eviction But wouldn’t that mean that he won? All he wants is to escape me He must stay ‘till my healing’s done.

Very well. He won’t be punished But I won’t trust him anymore. My servants will provide him meals But never let him out the door.

I can’t believe it! How did he Convince them to let him outside? Cheerfully, he’s making snowmen While Lumière stands calmly by!

I can’t allow this. I emerge But wait and watch before I yell. He’s holding seeds (where did he get them?) Drawing birds into his spell.

Is it his eyes that so enthrall them? No - enough. That doesn’t matter. Clearly, I must watch him myself If I’m the one he cannot flatter.

Come! I tell him - follow me. At dinner, we will eat together. He shrugs with a familiar scowl Of course, he can’t lose that altogether.

When we arrive, the table’s set. Three lovely dresses are my attendants. One black, one white, one emerald green, They’re loyal, not too independent.

The meal begins. A bowl of soup Without a spoon sits at my dining place. As usual, I slurp it up Until I see the boy’s ill-masked distaste.

Hastily, I put the bowl down, Bristling at his hostile gaze. Self-consciously, I lick my lips An action met with an eyebrow raise.

Well, what can he expect of me? For many years, I am a beast! I’m ugly, savage - must he remind me? He could pretend disinterest, at least.

I open my mouth, prepared to roar If he dares utter a single word. However, he goes back to eating As if his appetite’s undeterred.

Silence stalks the sombre meal I should be speaking; I’m the host. Yet I nurse my meat morosely, Feeling impotent as a ghost.

There is something in the boy That makes him tactful, almost kind. Even with my awful manners He acts as if he doesn’t mind.

After the meal, he checks my wound, Nodding mutely, then softly going. The fireplace is burning low, The silver rose is dimly glowing.

I have never understood The nature of the fairy’s curse. She said I have to “feel beloved” Yet who to me is not averse?

Above all, I cannot divine The meaning of the silver rose. It hangs, unchanging, in its dome; It never wilts, it never grows.

As I watch, a petal trembles As if pulled by an unseen breeze. Breaking from the rose, it falls, Filling me with dark unease.

The walls seem closer. I stand up And start to pace across the hall. Can this mean the rose is dying? Then what will happen to us all?

I’m not the only one that’s changed here My staff have not their human forms. Lamps and clocks, dusters, teapots, Even my dresses have been transformed.

Restless dreams and hulking shadows Stalk my wandering thoughts this night. If I see the boy this morning, Well, I’ll be itching for a fight!

Yet the sight of my young captive Doesn’t cause me pain or rage. Strangely mellow, I decide to Watch him as he stalks his cage.

Soon days are spent with him outdoors He prowls the grounds with me his guard. Sometimes he speaks of nature’s secrets I listen then with close regard.

Then in the evenings, we have dinner We do not speak, but eat in peace. Slowly, I learn to hold my spoon And use my napkin for the grease.

After, we shift towards the fire He approaches, slow and wary. Gingerly, he probes my shoulder. Is he repulsed that I’m so hairy?

He is full of different angles; At times he’s rigid; sometimes he bends. Whenever he looks at my wound It seems like we are almost…friends.

In this way, the weeks fly by Until only a scar remains. I know that I should free the boy And yet, I’ve grown to love these chains.

To let him go would mean relapsing Into that loneliness, that old despair. Once more, I would grow fierce and beastly, A monster that can only scare.

I almost shut and lock the gates - I almost cling to his soft presence. Yet if I forced him into staying, He would return to his cold reticence.

I shut myself into my rooms, Seeking calmness from these halls. The silver rose has almost perished, The second-to-last petal now falls.

Footsteps behind me! I whirl around To see him standing at my door. Tall and lean, shining green eyes… How could I not see before?

He is beauty, pure and simple. He shines at me, a glowing star. Although my wound has healed completely My heart is what he’ll really scar…

“What is that rose?” he asks of me I falter - I have lost my tongue He approaches, staring at The rose on which my fate has hung…

One petal left. What does it mean? When it falls, will I be dead? He reaches for the glass; I protest - But he takes my paw instead.

“It’s a curse,” he slowly whispers “You are no beast; it’s all a spell.” I want to step away, explain it Although, what else is there to tell?

He looks at me. “Is this the reason You only let me go today?” Before I speak, he cuts me off - And smiles. “No. I want to stay.”

[firesongs-mirror]

At Night

Your eyes are green as forest leaves Charcoal scribbles mark your fur A shadow crouched, too dark to emerge Too small to growl, too large to purr

Don’t worry! I won’t chase you off Come have some fish, it’s cold and wet I caught it from the stream back there I will not count it as a debt

Warily, you slink toward me I notice you have gleaming claws A lesser being might have escaped But I don’t fear your little jaws

Starlight ripples over the clearing Grasses part as you advance Take the fish, admit your hunger You won’t have another chance

Hesitant, you bend your head I smile as you devour the fish Now that you have quelled your hunger I think it’s my turn for a wish

I grab you with my spiny tail You shriek and try to run away None of that! I sink my teeth in Now it’s time for me to play!

[firesongs-mirror]

That Cinderella thing part 2

I reread it and I decided I really like it! So I shall attempt to continue it.

First Cinderella thing

--

“We can’t go in through the main entrance!” I hissed when I saw where he was leading me. I resumed my struggles to get free, but his grip was firm.

“Why not?” The boy frowned, looking stupidly (and due to his beautiful looks, a little adorably) naïve.

“Because everyone will talk! I’m not even supposed to be here!”

“Hmm, good point.” He turned and began striding across the manicured green lawn, heading for the side of the mansion. “Then I suppose we’ll have to use the kitchen entrance.”

“Right,” I muttered, wincing as each of his footsteps crushed the pristine grass. I stepped off the path reluctantly, knowing that we were creating more work for some poor servant who would have to somehow cover up our footsteps later. Of course, this Edgar boy wouldn’t care; he was obviously one of those intellectual, high-and-mighty types who never looked beyond his own nose. No doubt his charity to me was based on some half-grown sense of morality that his rich daddy taught him on Mondays and Fridays.

I’d done gardening work for rich households before, even if their houses weren’t quite as grandiose as this one. I knew how they worked.

Edgar continued leading me around the side of the mansion until we got to a small service door, set into the bottom left corner of a wall filled with over a dozen glass windows. He knocked politely on the wooden door, and a few seconds later, a woman in a stained apron opened it, brushing a few strands of hair from her sweaty forehead.

When she saw the boy, she looked resigned. “Oh, it’s you,” she said without a smile. “Well, come - and who’s this?” she asked, noticing me for the first time.

“She’s just a peasant,” Edgar said with a touch of pride, as if I were his peasant. “I found her under -”

“It was a mistake,” I interrupted him, with a wince at the woman, hoping for some sympathy. I knew it was highly improper to interrupt a gentleman, but I couldn’t let him tell everyone I’d been hiding under his carriage!

The woman raised an eyebrow, not dismissive but not sympathetic either. “Well, how long will this mistake be staying here?”

Edgar frowned, evidently hearing the sarcastic undertones. “As long as I will it,” he declared firmly, asserting his authority over us. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss -”

The woman nodded and quickly disappeared into what was clearly a kitchen, as I caught sight of the huge fireplace, the tables stacked with vegetables and meat, and the bustling servants. A wiry man in a large white hat was yelling at a small boy, no older than thirteen, while pointing at a pot with a nasty-looking knife. He had to be the cook, although most chefs I knew were on the stockier, beefier side. As my ma always said, a good cook should be plump from eating his own food.

Edgar tugged me after him, breaking my examination of the kitchen. He didn’t spare a single glance at a servant girl who almost tripped over his long legs as he strode by, nearly dropping her stack of plates. I winced in sympathy but didn’t have time to properly apologise. What was with these arrogant types who never looked at anyone below their class!

We emerged in an airy hallway, with airy portraits of food and flowers adorning the walls. Silvery grey curtains were drawn back to reveal windows that looked over the front lawn. Even from here, I could see the faint traces of the path that Edgar and I had taken around the house.

Without hesitation, the boy led me to the left end of the hall, where a narrow wooden staircase led upstairs. I almost tripped, but caught myself on the rough banister. A sharp pain lanced through my finger.

”Ow!” I snapped.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Edgar immediately lost his preoccupied air and, turning around, grabbed my hand. “Was it a splinter?”

“I’m fine! Leave me alone!” I finally tore my hand out of his grasp, regaining my freedom for the first time since we were outside. However, I knew that if I tried to run, I wouldn’t get very far, so I didn’t even bother trying. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

“Well, if you’re sure.” Edgar looked a little put out, as if he didn’t understand why I would refuse his help. “We’re going to the restrooms, the closet one’s upstairs. You can have a bath.”

“I am not bathing in your house!” I squeaked, remembering to keep my voice down just in time, in case someone important was nearby. “Do you have any sense of propriety?!”

He chuckled a little. “When you reach a certain point in life, you begin to understand that social conventions are a safety net for the close-minded,” he told me, somehow managing to sound only a little condescending. “I want to help you, since you seem lost and confused. A bath and a book are my usual solutions to that sort of thing.”

“I can’t read,” I reminded him.

“Then why don’t we go to the library and I can teach you?” Without waiting for a response, he took my wrist - a little more gently this time - and began leading me upstairs again. I sighed, but didn’t bother resisting.

We reached another hallway, slightly narrower that the first. The paintings depicted important-looking people with wigs instead of still lives. Edgar strode to the second door on the left and opened it, beckoning me in before him. I walked in a little hesitantly, wary of finding a nobleman smoking a cigar over the morning gazette or something (although it was afternoon).

I was greeted with a fairly large room, filled with books on every wall and a few floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I suppose it was rather impressive to someone who liked that sort of thing, but to my illiterate eyes, it looked like a whole bunch of musty nonsense. The whole place smelled of old leather and dust.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Edgar whispered, closing the door behind us. “What do you want to read first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied flippantly. “Something with pictures, I guess.”

“We don’t have picture books in here. How about a romance novel? I hear girls like that sort of thing.” Edgar let go of my arm and walked over to one of the bookshelves, running a finger across their dark spines.

I raised an eyebrow. “Romance? Sounds rather dull.” I spotted a cushy-looking armchair and wandered over to it, plopping down on the soft seat cushion that was probably highly illegal for a grubby servant girl like me.

“Just give it a try. It’s not about the content yet, until you learn to read sentences at least,” Edgar said authoritatively. “Here, let’s try this one. Come - why are you sitting there?! That’s my father’s seat!”

“Is it? Oops.” I stood up casually, rubbing my still-sore neck. That armchair had felt good. “Do I need to clean it or something?”

“Take this seriously, will you?” Edgar whispered fiercely, grey eyes flashing. “I’m trying to help you here!”

“And I don’t really want to be helped, thanks!” I retorted. “Why are you butting your nose into my life?”

“That’s not anatomically -” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “Let’s just sit on the floor.”

I shrugged and knelt on the shaggy grey-black carpet, making a halfhearted attempt to arrange my dress neatly. Edgar knelt next to me, brushing invisible dust off the carpet. He held a slim green novel with a title stitched in glossy silver thread.

He opened the book, flipping through a few near-blank pages until he got to a page with a large ‘1’ on it. “Okay, let’s start with letters. This is -”

“Wait, aren’t I supposed to read the title first?” I objected.

“It’s in cursive,” he explained patiently. “We can read it after you learned the main -”

“But what does it say?” I persisted.

He sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair - the first irritated gesture that I’d seen him make. “Sweet Sunlight,” he told me.

I wrinkled my nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, we’ll have to read to find out, won’t we?”

I gave a noncommittal grunt. As he turned to the first page again, I suddenly felt very self-conscious. I probably smelled like street dust and dirty laundry, my hands looked painfully coarse next to Edgar’s as they gripped the book, and I was about to look like an idiot because I knew absolutely nothing about reading.

I opened my mouth to tell him I wouldn’t do it, but he started talking about the letters again, and I gave up.

[firesongs-mirror]

Stardom

We raise our glasses, praising the stars And the stars, they praise us in turn Glorious humans, ascending our mountains From failures, we grow and learn

The stars shy away from our rotting cities Burn them, I say, let the new cities grow! The stars look sternly on our unjust society Destroy it, I say, it was doomed long ago!

We reach for the sky in the name of our Progress If we fall short of the moon, we can land on Mars The blackness of space will never daunt us If we fly fast and far, we can land in the stars

Soon we will rise, leaving this faulty home We will lead humanity through its dawning story We can reach the stars, and then transcend them Raise your glasses, my friends, to our blaze of glory!

[firesongs-mirror]

Quest

a long way to go but still the same in the end, many wounds to heal and many holes to mend. i hope you remember to light up the way, the path is so dark and the moon’s far away. a crown on my brow and a staff in my hand, leading an army through waters and sand. soldiers with knives that grow from their shoulders, spiny blind lizards that can eat through boulders. horses whose veins have acid not blood, shadows that turn human flesh into mud.

they say we are scary but look at their souls, diseased and riddled with slimy black holes. they eat and they sleep and they wriggle for space, each wearing a smiling mask not a face. at least we are honest, we search for a cure, every day while all they can do is endure.

the path is so dark, can you hold the light higher? god watches yet to see, even he needs a fire. slowly we trudge through the cold and the wet, freezing and thawing and covered with sweat. we’ve left those sorry humans behind, we can keep going but do we have time?

the exit is closing, the fire burns low, we need to hurry or we’ll be stuck here alone. the crown is falling from my tired head, can you take my army and lead them instead?

i will remain here and guard the high gate, as heaven closes i know this is fate.

i am stuck with the humans.

i will never escape.

[firesongs-mirror]

Soft Suffering 6.4

Alec woke in something unusually soft. For a moment, he thought he had woken up in a meadow, where he slept sometimes in the summer. But a too-short blanket covered him, and his exposed feet felt chilly. He opened his eyes to a dark room, wincing when his dry skin stretched tight across his eyelids. Then he remembered.

The hunt. Shooting the beast. Getting dragged here. Becoming a prisoner.

Dry skin was the least of his problems. He groaned and shifted slightly, reluctant to stay under this too-small blanket, but unwilling to face the beast again.

As if it had heard his groan, a servant tapped on the door, then let itself in without waiting for a reply. It was some kind of wooden coatrack, with three short legs, a long pole for a body, a featureless sphere for a head, and two curved arms. Like the candleholder - Lumiere - and the clock man (Horloge, was it?), the coatrack seemed to be able to move as if it were made of flesh. It had a white towel draped over one arm, and a pitcher of water in the other.

Alec groaned again. He had tried to dismiss the servant last night, but it had insisted on helping him undress and making him wash his face. It had even folded his bed back, like a mother caring for her child. He had hated that especially. He didn’t want to be reminded of everything his mother was supposed to do, but never did.

“Go away,” he grumbled, letting his eyes drift shut again.

In response, the servant splashed some of the pitcher’s contents on his face. Alec yelled and spluttered, then immediately sat up and pushed the offending pitcher away.

“What the bloody hell was that for?!” he exclaimed.

The coatrack handed him the towel.

Alec had no choice but to accept it, wipe his face (ignoring the sting in the clawmarks on his cheek), then reluctantly get up to wash up for real. The servant followed him to the washbasin, helpfully pouring in some more ice-cold water. Alec eyed it with distaste, but when the coatrack tapped one of its little feet on the floor impatiently, he relented and washed his hair as well.

While he stumbled over to the chamber pot, the servant took the pitcher and the towel and left the room. It returned a few moments later with a stack of some kind of cloth. Ignoring it, Alec began to pull on yesterday’s clothes, but the servant stopped him with a firm tap on his shoulder.

He stopped pulling on his trousers and glanced at it. “What?”

It nudged the stack of cloth at him.

Frowning, Alec let go of his trousers and took it, expecting it to be new bedsheets or something. Who knew how things worked in a castle? To his surprise, however, he discovered that it was a pair of dark grey trousers, a white shirt, and a light grey buttoned vest to go on top of it.

“Um, you don’t need to give me all this stuff,” Alec told the servant a little uncomfortably. “I’ll be leaving soon anyway…”

The coatrack knelt down and pulled at his trousers impatiently. Alec stepped out of them, stumbling a little, and watched as it collected his original clothes into a heap and began walking to the door.

“Wait! Will I get those back?” Alec demanded.

The servant stopped and nodded slightly. Alec could almost sense its disapproval, as if it were asking, ‘Anything else, or can I actually get on with my job?’

“Er,” said Alec. He felt rather awkward about the gift, as though a weight had settled in his stomach. It felt rude to continue acting annoyed at a thing (or enchanted person) that was trying to help him. He needed to do some kind of gesture to the servant to repay its kindness, even if he didn’t really appreciate the cold water in the face.

“Er, what’s your name?” he ventured.

Alec could almost see the coatrack’s shoulders stiffen, even though it was made of wood already. It slowly turned until it faced Alec fully again.

“Sameth,” a voice whispered, coming from the coatrack.

“What?” Alec said, mostly out of surprise at getting an actual response. Despite not having a mouth, the coatrack could talk? It supported his enchanted person theory.

“Sameth,” it - he - repeated, a little louder. Then the coatrack turned and scurried out the door.

It didn’t reappear to help Alec put his clothes on, which left him both relieved and puzzled.

[firesongs-mirror]

Soft Suffering 6.3

Alec rubbed his eyes. They were beginning to burn and itch from tiredness. Surely, that explained why the candleholder was walking and talking. "Greetings, monsieur!" a rich voice pronounced, rolling the "r"s like a true French aristocrat. "It is a pleasure to welcome you as a guest of honour." Slowly, Alec lowered his hands and squinted at the flickering candles in front of him. A small, smiling face - with gleaming white teeth! - was etched into the central candlestick. It blinked, closing its amber eyes for a moment. Alec blinked, too. "That's not the beast's voice," he said. "No, it is not! It is mine. I am Lumiere, monsieur, at your service." The candleholder swept an elegant bow, then straightened again. It stood no taller than Alec's knee, and had no visible legs, arms, or wings. "How do you move? And talk?" he enquired, feeling too exhausted to show much surprise. After all, he had just met a talking beast, who lived in an apparently cursed castle. Maybe all the inhabitants here were enchanted objects or animals. The candleholder laughed merrily, flashing its white teeth again. "Why, it is simple! I simply jump around, like this." With a slight movement, he jumped up, then landed again on his base. "You try it!" "Er, no thanks," Alec declined politely. "Is there anyone else in this castle I should meet?" "Oh no! I am forgetting my manners!" Lumiere touched his left candlestick to his face, like a woman lifting her hand to her forehead in mock horror. Alec half-expected the candle to melt through the gold that appeared as soft and flexible as butter, but nothing happened to the metal. "Come, you must meet Monsieur Horloge. Hey! Horloge!" He turned around and beckoned to something on the far side of the entrance hall. A small, round face, about a foot off the ground, Alec thought it looked like the pale moon-like face of a child, until it sidled out from behind one of the brass doors that led into the rest of the castle. Then, Alec saw its body was a small grandfather clock. It had two short, stubby legs, which it used to come pattering forward to Lumiere. Alec took the time to look around the entrance hall more closely. A faded red carpet led from the entrance doors to the brass doors from which the clock man had just come. There were two large marble staircases, one to either side, which led to a balcony overlooking the hall. The balcony had four doors behind it, lining the wall at even intervals. Theh beast had disappeared through the leftmost door. The walls were bare of pictures, and there was no furniture in the room, not even an armoire or a coat rack. Lumiere cleared his throat, reminding Alec that there was someone in front of him. "Monsieur, this is my fellow steward, Horloge," he said. "It's very nice to meet you," Alec said politely. Looking closer, he realised the face of the little man was a clock, and the minute and hour hands were two uneven whiskers. His little arms were clasped in front of him. This, combined with his delicately raised eyebrows, made him appear as if he were snootily looking down at Alec - a feat, considering he, like Lumiere, barely reached to Alec's knees. "Likewise," Horloge said stiffly. "Ahem. Lumiere, I think we'd best show the guest to his quarters?" "Ah, yes, of course!" Lumiere beamed. He seemed very prone to making exclamations. "Right this way, Monsieur. We'll have you set up in the east wing, away from any distractions." Alec wondered what sort of distractions could be found in a cursed castle. "Don't you have a dungeon for your prisoners?" he asked. "Monsieur!" Lumiere nearly fell over mid-hop. "Prisoner! Why, what could possess us to keep prisoners? We are a very upstanding household, and we treat everyone as our honoured guests!" "Well, then if I'm not a prisoner, why can't I go home?" Alec demanded. "The beast isn't even here. How are you going to stop me from escaping?" Horloge tsked, shaking a disapproving finger at Alec. He looked like a stern schoolmaster reprimanding a delinquent. "It's rude to speak of the Mistress of the Castle in that way," he reprimanded. The beast was a girl? Somehow, Alec couldn't quite wrap his mind around that. Weren't ladies supposed to be dainty and quiet? Lumiere lowered his voice to a whisper. "Besides, she could be looking and listening right now! She has this magic -" "Shhhh!" Horloge almost sprayed Lumiere with spit. His face was rapidly turning red. "Not in front of the guest!" Alec decided he had heard enough of this insanity. Let the two creatures bicker without him. He turned around and headed straight for the double doors, intending to throw them open and start home. True, it was dark, but at least it wasn't snowing, and he still had his bow in case of wolves. "Monsieur, where are you going?" Lumiere asked quickly. Alec ignored him and reached for the bolt, intending to lift it up and push the doors open. The wooden beam didn't even budge. "Monsieur! It's no use. If the Mistress desires you to be her guest -" Alec placed both hands under the bolt and heaved, straining to lift it even an inch. If a girl - beast or not - could lift this bolt and lock the door with it, then so could he! "Monsieur -" A deep roar suddenly echoed through the hall, making Alec's teeth quake. He instinctively put his hands over his ears and looked around for the source, but it had already stopped. Lumiere and Horloge were also holding their armlike appendages to where their ears were supposed to be. The roar had come from a different room - probably far away. Somehow, the beast had known what Alec was doing. "Monsieur...please," Lumiere begged. "Let us go to your room. There is no use in angering the Mistress. She will only demand more of what she wants." Alec sighed, looking at the door longingly again. But it seemed freedom was well beyond his reach.

[firesongs-mirror]

Soft Suffering 6.2

The beast enjoyed the fear, resignation, and anger that flitted across the boy's face as he stared up into her eyes. He was a good head and a half shorter than her. It was a good feeling to look down on people, after spending most of her life staring at everyone's chins and noses. She could order people to do many things, but ungrowing wasn't one of them. Yes, she was a monster. She had seen her reflection enough times to have it forever branded into her memory. She placed a paw on the gate and wrenched it open. The ancient lock scraped harshly against the rusted iron, and her ears flicked irritably. The gate swung open faster than she'd expected, jostling her left arm and sending a flash of pain through her shoulder. Idiot boy with his stupid arrow! She wished she could rip through his shoulder, to give him a taste of what it felt like, but she needed him in good health so he could care for her. But when she was healed....well, she would see. "In," she grunted at the boy. He obeyed quickly, scurrying past as if he expected her to cuff him as he walked by. Abusive father or brother, perhaps? She shook the thought away and followed him into the estate, slamming the gate shut behind her with a satisfying clang. Now the boy was a prisoner for sure, just like she had been for the last ten years. The boy slowed to a stop a few paces in, gaping around at the massive trees and the gloomy shadows. The beast gave him ten seconds to gawk before she growled sharply. "Get a move on!" she said. "The doors are straight ahead." To make sure he didn't slow down, she followed close behind all the way down the drive, practically breathing down his neck. She tried not to wince every time she placed her left foot down. When they reached the massive double doors, she placed one hand on the wooden handles and thrust them open. Her muscles strained, fighting against the rusted hinges. At last, the doors slowly opened, grinding against the ground. She stepped aside and waved the boy through. As he passed (ducking slightly again), she stretched out a claw and hooked it under his bow. He automatically stopped and tried to unhook it, then realised what happened. His hand slowly fell to his side. "You're going to take it?" he asked, a note of despair in his voice. She snorted. "I can't have you killing me in my sleep. I won't break the stupid thing." "But I need it to hunt!" he argued, his green eyes flashing with anger. "My family -" "Shut up about your family and give the bow here!" the beast snapped, finally losing patience with his bleating. "I don't care if you have a wife and seven children. You have to fix me!" "I have a mother and a drunken brother! That's a lot more important than your stupid shoulder! I bet it doesn't even hurt anymore!" He took a step forward, his face twisted in a scowl. The bow came free from her claw, but she didn't try to grab it again. "You can't keep me here. I already did enough by treating you!" Without consciously thinking about it, the beast brought her good arm up and slapped the boy, hard, across the face. He cried out and stumbled backwards, his hands flying to cover the marks of her claws. Almost immediately, blood began to seep out, making the beast's nose twitch at the metallic scent. She lowered her arm immediately, though the anger still boiled under her skin. "You have no right to speak like that to me," she hissed. Then, knowing her steward was nearby because she could smell the smoke of his candles, she called, "Lumiere! Go treat the brat." A light flickered on on the far sight of the massive entrance hall, and a moment later, an ornate golden candleholder appeared from behind a tapestry. It had three candlesticks, each with a burning candle on top that never ran out of wax. His small face was alight - no pun intended - with curiosity. He had obviously been listening in. Not in the mood to answer the questions of him and her other servants, the beast turned her back away and stomped up the marble stairs that led to the west wing. She had had enough of the boy. She needed to tend to her rose to calm herself.

[firesongs-mirror]

Soft Suffering 6.1

The creature growled, making Alec's shoes vibrate slightly, even through the blanket of snow. It narrowed its eyes and bared its yellowed, blunted teeth. Alec recoiled slightly at the stench that wafted over him when it exhaled. "You monster," it whispered in a gravelly voice. Alec yelped and backpedaled rapidly, almost tripping over his heels. "Y-You can talk?" he stammered. It growled wordlessly again in response, shifting its limbs slightly. "I will rip you from limb to limb," it ground out. Alec didn't stumble again, but he felt his hands began to shake. "You're the monster," he whispered. "I know!" it screamed suddenly, causing Alec to fall backwards. "I know how I look!" "It doesn't matter how you look!" Alec yelled back, more to mask the tremble in his voice than out of real anger. "It's what's inside that counts. Even if you grew up in the woods, you should know better than to threaten people with murder!" It quieted for a moment, twitching its whiskers in thought, almost like the old man who told stories in the village inn. "You shot me with an arrow," it said at last, more resentful than hateful now. "Only a coward would do that." "I'm sorry," Alec said, even though he really wasn't. His mother had drilled manners into him too firmly. "I don't have good eyesight. I thought you were a deer." "Then an idiot like you shouldn't be hunting!" The beast shifted its head and bent awkwardly to sniff at its wound. Its nose glistened with moisture, barely an inch away from the congealing blood. "Get this out. It hurts." Alec was about to tell the beast it could take the arrow out itself and shove it somewhere more painful, but an unexpected twinge of pity made him hesitate. It was his fault the beast was hurt, after all, even though it was an animal, and a dangerous one at that. It was only right that he should fix his mistake. "I don't want to come any nearer," he admitted truthfully. The beast turned to glare at him again, its eyes pooling with hatred again. "Then I'll drag myself to you and force you. If you try to run away, I'll pull the arrow out myself and run you down until your feet bleed, then murder you and the rest of your village." Alec couldn't hide his shudder. The spark of pity almost went out, but then he saw the pain behind the beast's bravado. It didn't want to look weak, but it knew it could barely move a few feet. It probably knew, too, that if it pulled the arrow out without a binding for the wound, it could bleed to death. If Alec wanted to run away right now, the beast could do nothing to stop him. It would most likely die in the woods alone. "I'll help you." The words came out of their own accord, and he knew his face was as surprised as the beast's was. "But you can't hurt me. Once I take you back to where you live and treat the wound, you have to let me return to my family." "Fine," the beast agreed, too quickly. Its eyes were very wide, like the eyes of the man who cheated at cards when he slipped an ace up his sleeve. Alec didn't know what part of the promise it intended to break, but his conscience left him no choice. He reached into his quiver and pulled out a spare shirt he had rolled into a bundle. Slowly, he approached the beast. It flicked its bushy tail, watching warily, but made no move to attack him. Alec unrolled the shirt and knelt next to the beast, careful not to touch it. He scooped up a handful of snow and placed it close to the arrow. "This will be cold, but it'll numb the pain," he warned it. It nodded slowly. Alec tentatively reached for the arrow, feeling the beast's body heat even with his hand a few inches away. He didn't want to do this. He hated to inflict more pain, even on a creature that obviously had no qualms about inflicting pain on others. "Are you ready?" he questioned, just to be sure. "Yes!" the beast hissed through gritted teeth. "Get on with - AAIIIIIIII!" With a quick motion, Alec had yanked out the arrow and immediately pressed the snow. He tossed the arrow aside, then pressed his shirt to the rapidly reddening snow. The beast tensed from the pain, its claws digging into the snow. Alec winced and pressed his shirt into the sound harder, hoping to stifle the blood flow. The beast's muscles rippled under his fingers. "Are you done?" it gasped. "Yeah," Alec breathed. "I'm sorry." This time, he meant it. "I wish I hadn't done this." The beast's only response was a small "pshah", as if it didn't believe him. "We need to get back to my castle." "You live in a castle?" Alec almost lost his grip on the shirt. "There aren't any castles around here!" "Mine's cursed," the beast muttered. "No one would mention it anywhere, if they knew what's good for them. And get off, I can walk!" Alec was only too happy to step away. His knees had gotten soaked from the snow he'd knelt on. The dark stain was barely distinguishable from the fabric of his trousers. Night had truly fallen, and only the gibbous moon and the constellations provided light to see by. The beast slowly got to its feet. The wound was on its shoulder, so the shirt didn't fall off. Alec suspected it was well stuck to the beast's blood by now. With every movement of its left shoulder, it winced and tensed its arm, until its muscles were knotted more thickly than those of the toughest woodcutter. With a sharp inhale, the beast reared up and stood on its hind legs - and stayed there. Alec was shocked that the animal was able to walk like a human. Perhaps it had been raised by humans? That could be where it learnt to talk - but then, why did it live in a cursed castle? "What are you staring at?" it snapped, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Nothing," he muttered. "Must I go with you? I have a family -" "Yes," the beast cut him off. "You will make sure I get to the castle safely. This way." It turned roughly north and began stalking away, leaving clawed pawprints in the snow. Alec followed as quickly as he could without actually running, staring at the beast's retreating back. It was rather lean and elegant, despite its broad shoulders and bulky muscles. Its tail swept back and forth with every step, helping it keep its balance. It reminded him more of a long-haired dog's tail than of a cat's. Its legs were shaped like those of a wolf, with the knees bending backwards, and its thick upper arms reached to its thighs. Its mane went almost to the middle of its back, making its upper body look much larger than it really was. If not for the horns and the clawed appendages, Alec would almost say the beast had a human profile. They walked for almost an hour, based on the almost imperceptible shifting of the stars in the sky. Alec was tired, cold, and hungry. He cursed his eyesight and the fact that instead of scoring a feast for his family tonight, he was stuck escorting a monster to its home. He prayed that it would let him go back. Maybe, if it was raised by humans, it would know enough compassion to let him go once he explained that he was the only breadwinner in the house. Although, based on the fact that it threatened to murder the entire village if he didn't accede to its demands, he kind of doubted it. The trees began to thin out, and after a few more steps, Alec came to the northern edge of the woods. Ahead of him stood a towering, wrought-iron gate that guarded a broad driveway. His jaw dropped as he lifted his eyes to gaze at a magnificent castle that jutted from a wide hill. Its first floor was obscured by a band of trees that might have hid a moat, or a garden. It had at least four or five towers, and several wings that reached to the north, the northwest, and the east. There might have been south wings as well. A central keep rose in the very middle of the stone monolith, watching sternly over the rest of the castle. "Welcome," the beast said dryly. "This is my home, and your new prison, until I see fit to release you." "I - what?" Alec abruptly shut his jaw and flicked his eyes to the beast. He didn't know why he was surprised, or why his heart felt like it had sunk to the level of his knees. "But you said -" "Shut up," the beast growled. "You attacked me, and you will heal me until I am well. Then, I will decide what to do with you, peasant boy!" Alec couldn't help thinking it was an odd insult, coming from a beast, although he supposed living in a castle must have made it feel superior to lowly humans. "You're a monster," he stated softly, accidentally echoing his words from earlier. The beast's eyes glittered in the starlight. "I know."

[firesongs-mirror]

Soft Suffering 6

She was soft, and he was kind, and they suffered for years before they could get anything right, because appearances are stronger than reality and sometimes it is easy to get confused. In her mind, she was fierce and angry and wounded, shaped into a beast by a wicked sorceress. In her mind, he was an idiotic village boy, lost in the woods while chasing deer. In his mind, he was lonely and misunderstood. He had a sick mother and an elder brother who drank away his fears every other night in the village inn. In his mind, she was a vicious creature who spitefully locked him in her castle, preventing him from feeding his family for another week on the stingy muscles of the winter-thin deer. Minds are a fickle thing. Who knows what they trick the eyes into seeing? It is one of the follies of magic. In gifting itself to men as a tool to achieve civilisation (and eventually transcendence), it rendered them imperfect. Magic cannot function without an illusion. Nevertheless, the sorceress who visited the vain princess' castle one cold winter night was able to see past the illusion of grandeur. She saw the malice in the princess' heart, and she drew on it to craft the beast. But she also saw the love, and she drew on it to craft the cure. The princess just did not know it yet. The secret hid within an enchanted rose. Alec stalked through the woods with his bow slung over his shoulder, listening intently for the soft rustling of fur that signalled the presence of deer. He wore a grey tunic and black breeches, and if he stood still, he would look like a slender sapling. His long, thin arms passed perfectly as branches, no skin showing to betray his human nature to the questing wind. The gust whirled through the tree trunks, swept over the boy once, found no openings in his clothes, and continued on with only a ruffle of his raven-black hair as a mark of its passing. His face did not turn pink from the cold. He was too used to it. He stopped abruptly, sliding the bow from his shoulder and into his grip. Without the steady crunch of snow under his boots, the steadily darkening forest was eerily still. He had caught the sound of fur rubbing against tree bark, causing a barely-perceptible scraping sound. There - it was coming from the left, some ways away. Alec wetted his chapped lips and stepped off the path, squinting to catch a glance of the dark brown fur of a deer. His eyesight was not what it used to be, since he spent so much of his childhood poring over books. It made him a poorer hunter, although he could not afford the eyeglasses to correct his vision. He caught a smudge of brown between two tree trunks. It had to be it. He drew in a breath, nocking an arrow to his bow. The smudge didn't move. Praying he would hit the head or the leg, Alec released the arrow. Despite his inferior eyesight, his aim was true. The arrow made a small arc through the maze of tree trunks, then planted itself firmly into the fur of the animal. It roared - no, it shrieked in agony, falling to the ground and beginning to roll around in pain. Alec jumped, feeling the blood rush to his ears from the curdling sound - surely no deer or bear could scream so high? The voice almost sounded female. He almost staggered in horror when he realised he could have hit a poor girl, wandering the woods with a brown cloak on! His movements slow and jerky, Alec slung his bow back over his shoulder and began running to his victim. His footsteps, previously so light and quiet, became sluggish and heavy, so it seemed to take him twice as long as it normally would to run a mere fifty feet. Finally, he reached the brown thing. The animal - now that he was close, he could see its fur, definitely marking it as an animal - had curled up into a ball, whimpering and pressing its paw to its side, where the narrow arrow shaft jutted out of its skin. Alec winced when he saw the bright red beads of blood welling out of the fur. This was one of his worst shots yet - messy and painful for the animal. He told himself he really needed to get eyeglasses. Cautiously, he approached the last few feet until he was standing directly next to the animal. It looked like a bear, but it was much too small, and its tail was too long and furry. It had two small horns, almost hidden in a shaggy mane of hair. Its body was rather thick, its legs short and stocky to support the mass of fur and muscle. Its face was hidden from Alec's view. He wanted to kneel down and end the animal's life quickly and painlessly, but he was afraid of being gored by the wickedly sharp claws that protruded from its tough-looking paws. Instead, he settled for a simple, "Hello?" The animal abruptly jerked its head around, so Alec could finally see its face. It was an ugly, triangular face with a barely protruding muzzle; it had a wet black nose and white whiskers on its cheeks and chin. Its mouth was twisted in a scowl. Involuntarily, Alec took a step back when he got a good look into the creature's eyes. They were small and had a washed-out green colour with a catlike pupil. But unlike a cat, this creature's eyes held the spark of intelligence in them. Alec stared into eyes that were full of pain and hatred. For him. He had done this.

[firesongs-mirror]

Soft Suffering 5.5

The little letters mocked him Spelling out her name in deceptively neat computer print, Masking the untidiness of her scrawl. He had picked the paper up by chance While looking for his own, But now he couldn’t seem to let go. He felt a prickle of amusement that quickly faded, Leaving puzzlement in its wake. Why did he want to read this paper? He knew her thoughts, or thought he did. She was so simple to read. Eager, cheerful, scampering around Laughing breathlessly at jokes that were minutes old Smiling at him as if she wanted to see his smile too. He thought he knew what thoughts she had written Something about romance, perhaps, or a silly song. Just in case, he skimmed the first line - and froze. “His name was Kindness and he had The softest and most scornful eyes…”

[firesongs-mirror]

Soft Suffering 5

The little letters mocked her "K-I-N-D-N-E-S-S", they spelt, neat and even What was kind about him? He shunned her, ignored her, waved her off He turned his back on her smiles. All she could do was rush ahead And grab his book, returning it to the shelf for him Receiving a muttered “thank-you" Uttered with little grace. She stared at the paper with his name on top, Wondering if she should read it, Wondering if he would ever forgive her If he knew her fingertips had brushed over his words, If he knew her eyes had brushed over his thoughts. Would he ever know? Despite his indifference, she could never stop Imagining his glance trailing over her, Reading her, and silently mocking what he discovered. She was painfully exposed before him. He knew too much about her, But he was not kind or gentle with his knowledge. What he saw, he saw with scorn.

[firesongs-mirror]

Soft Suffering 4

her soft suffering could only be healed by a difficult foray into a thicket of thorns why was kindness so unkind? she could not read past his smile it was walking on needles in a bed of coals nevertheless, her muffling pillow began to disintegrate, the feathers escaping, revealing scaly armour underneath as kindness’ thorns repelled her, her inner steel began to show, she couldn’t bear to let him go, she fought and fought like the greatest creature still, she couldn’t find his softness. born of suffering, tested by fire, she ended as a lovely dragon, feathers scattered all around her but kindness was her only loss.

[firesongs-mirror]

Soft Suffering 3

"What's your name?" she asked, absently tearing at a strand of grass.

"It's Kindness," he replied.

She laughed. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

Throwing the bits of grass away, she peered at him, a little bemusedly, as if she couldn't imagine what sort of kindness she could find in a boy with small dark eyes who never seemed to laugh. "Alright then." She told him her name.

He gave her a brief, close-lipped smile, wondering why she was so determined to further this acquaintance. The sun was beginning to beat harder on the meadow; his shirt was sticking to his back. His friends were running around and shouting in the distance. He didn't enjoy soccer, but he suddenly wanted to join them.

"Do you take AP history?" she persisted in asking, leaning a little closer as if he were slightly deaf.

Of course he did. "Yes."

"Really? Who's your teacher?"

"Rosane."

"I have her too! What period?"

"Four." She wasn't catching on to the meaning behind his monosyllabic answers, was she?

"Oh, I have her six. Hey, then you can tell me what we do in her class at lunch!" She smiled broadly, as if figuring this out was some kind of accomplishment. Did she really think he was going to tell her about pop quizzes or what was on tests? Seriously, he had only just met her.

"Maybe," he said instead.

"Great!" She shot him a brilliant smile, which might have softened him somewhat if he hadn't already decided that he didn't really like her. "I eat lunch in caf one. Usually with Sarah. Sarah Wu, I mean - you know her, right?"

When he heard her name, he couldn't help starting slightly. Yes, he knew Sarah - who didn't? She was beautiful, intelligent, charismatic, head of the Chinese Culture Club and set to be valedictorian…

"Yeah, I do."

He felt a strange, fluttery feeling in his stomach. Maybe he would meet this girl at lunch after all.