The Academy: early occult memories; Leto

All silence he sits beside the fire at the center of the floor, hands stirring through the ashes, mouth moving in the shape of my name.
I turn to reach toward him, take one step, feel my skin begin to flame away.
Blood calls to blood.
Fire to fire.
There is tedium to it - repetition; despair even. Does the raven nestled in her mountains know of the serpents mating? No.
Still; blood calls to blood - fire to fire.

She is as solemn as stone; quiet in the rhythmic nuances of step and breath. Others dance; they sail and soar and cavort as creatures of spirit not flesh but she is earthbound - grounded - rooted, even. Beneath the brindled mantle of flesh; she is igneous and volatile and churns as tempests do. The smooth and serious patina of her countenance betrays none of this.

Small blazes roll along her shoulders - the only sign of a nature more passionate than belied by the impassivity of her face. She glows as she pushes through the green-touched shadows - through this womb of green-trapped night that finds her glowing as fireflies do. One moment she burns into existence and upon the next, she burns out and comes close to someone else in the shadows - a colt. Blood calls to blood - fire to fire. Her tongue flicks against his monochromatic shoulder as a serpent tastes the air - one flick, one touch, and the fire burns hotter in her.

She thinks she ought to know him but she doesn’t.
He seems familiar; his taste is familiar yet strange to her.

Wildfire spills across her neck and burns out; extinguished.
They are left in the quiet dark of their breathing and closeness.

Fire I; Brishen x Yehl