follow your fire

VALKYRIE She stood in the storm As infuriated as she felt, for adrenaline-laced blood boiled hot through her veins now, and knees below her rain-drenched frame were rattling quite out of control, Valkyrie just simply couldn’t deny the strange warmth that melted first through her mind, and then down into the very essence of her being. It began as a light sensation, a subtle tingle, driving clarity through the storm of her miserable thoughts. It slowly sucked the savageness from the feminine contours of her face, then grew steadily more to dumb down the ruckus of her heart rate and smooth away the bloody labyrinth of rage that had risen to redden her eyes. The rigid, recalcitrant angle of her crest softened without realising, shoulders which had hunched sullenly beneath the weight of a trillion grudges were freed of their burden - if only temporarily. Though she didn’t immediately realise it, the chaotic, winged girl had relinquished most of the tension before the towering, benevolent deer-figure began for the third time to speak (the second time, the mention of upset, was plainly ignored). The interrogation she felt somehow deep within her, however, couldn’t any longer be avoided. This time, though the sting of her unrelenting hatred was indeed hard to quell, Valkyrie met the warm smouldering eyes of the lovely goddess with her own, tearful blue. She shook heavily, as though to rid her skin of pent-up, clammy moisture, but her clean white coat was already dry… Frustration radiated from her. “It’s no wonder your silly world needs help,” she blurted more softly, wearily now through still clenched teeth. The Rift was beyond help if Hope’s kind of wisdom was the guide - really the narrow-minded girl understood little outside of her own vain perspective. Her voice seemed strangled and alien, strained and juddering above the repressed tide of evolving emotion. She was exhausted and her thoughts were beginning to scramble as they fought to realign to the foundation of understanding that had been long entrenched within: men were evil, treacherous monsters. At last a curt answer was lured into fruition, a brisk nod to confirm (hardly) concealed loathing, and another particularly expressive frown upon her pale pink lips; those that before the rift, had been fashioned beneath laughter and resilience. As she stood there resentfully beneath the shadow of the ruins, the Sisterhood would surely not have recognised their beloved kin. “…they are worse than disease.” She believed it with every inch of her being, for, that men would bring no peace (in fact the very opposite) to the world, was all she cared to see. Valkyrie would not be swayed. and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails.

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