[Oriana]

---

Oriana had been thankful for the anchors her companions had been; perhaps the more embarrassing state the Queen had ever been in front of others. She was vulnerable, she was unhinged and it was degrading to expose this to anyone but the shadows of the temple and the echo of the hallways. Their search was exhausting, on the brink of being hopeless, and yet they stayed with her anyway. For that, Oriana gifted them her life-long gratitude. While it was hardly put into words, she hoped to repay their loyalty in a way that could serve them well for the years to come.

She couldn’t burden them with the continued hours of searching; the sun began and fall and the skyline lit up with the beautiful hues of oranges and blues, signalling another day over, another day lost, and another day without anything new. Resolution was dwindling fast and the pressure of returning home become a larger and sharper lump in her throat. Oriana wanted to continue using Hircine as an excuse, a distraction, even, to avoid the decision to begin retracing their steps. What would she even go back with? Hours of lost time and for nothing at all; she’d not received any proof of her reason for leaving. The thought of being marked as a traitor, a betrayer; the sneers and the scoffs in her face by those who never respected her now and those who never did to being with.

The Sabora beckoned her companions to find camp, with a weary smile she assured them a return to them soon enough. Touching green to red, green to blue, green to brown; she’d assured them there was nothing to fear. She trusted them, there was hope they trusted her, too. Her mind was too wired and her anxiety was flared, an attempt to sleep now would be proven fruitless.

So she’d wandered, somewhat aimlessly, but keeping track as to her distance away from her followers, her trustees, her family in more ways than one.

The sun had hid nearly his whole face now, just the faint light of his head expanding across the horizon as the moon started to come in, relieving the fiery star from it’s duty of illuminating the planet. Oriana’s legs grew tired and her heart grew heavy, slowing her pace as the remainder of the crown tugged at her weakened, fatigued mindset to tie her down and chant in her ear. There were no angels out here, not on her shoulders anyway; she left all of those in Saboro, in the camp, away from her and without chance of rescuing her. Through the faded, foggy mind of her toxic thoughts, the scent of something familiar penetrated the black clouds and intrigued a part of her conscious with interest. Her pace slowed, then stopped, and her head rose, straining those bloodthirsty thorns from the earth and scraping them across her skull.

In the distance there was a movement to match the smell. It hadn’t registered in her mind as to who it was, but it rattled something deep within her heart. Oriana frowned, her fight or flight instincts just barely at bay as she moved forward, paranoia looming— Was this someone coming to take her back to Saboro? Had they already sent out the trackers to get her?

“Show yourself.” The demanding voice of a Queen, but hidden was the vulnerability that could be seen through a clouded veil of doubt.

---

[Anglachel]

i even tried to bury myself alive
but the dirt recoiled
you have already rotted it said
there is nothing left for me to do
- self-hate rupi kaur

---

      It was the first moment of rest in what felt like days, the restlessness of his limbs giving way under the weight of exhaustion. The runaway prince leaned against the trunk of a study oak, raising his silvery head to watch fiery rays cast shades of purple and burgundy across the darkening sky, making way for the moon and stars. It reminded him of Saboro -- of his Sun, his Moon, his little Stars -- No, no longer his. He had left, followed the tug of instinct and a whim that took him far from everything that was familiar and dear. A moth to a flame, silly Icarus to the sun.

Wax wings hastily crafted in his fleeting flight for freedom would melt away. Soon, he would burn.

Keep going, the urge, the knot of fear stirred once more. Twilight had fallen and it was time to move on again, but neglected muscles strained in protest, sending his frame crashing to the earth.

Show yourself.

The voice was familiar, achingly and frighteningly so. For a moment, Anglachel wondered if hallucinations were setting in, if travel fatigue or stubborn infection were here to claim him. But even after several moments the order remained suspended tensely in the air between them. She was real and... surely this was it. Was she here to take him back? Or to swing the executioner's ax as Saboro demanded. The former prince stood, turning his back on the sun and stepping from the shade into silvery moonlight to face the Queen. The first time they had faced each other since that night where he had laid injured and dying, whispering apologies and reassurances and forgiveness. 

Would she recognize her older brother, the boy who had watched her when she was little, the adolescent who had fought disobedient slaves by her side. Now ragged and skinny and crippled. Or would she merely see an Icarus who flew too close to the sun as he fled for freedom?

No, Anglachel realized as tired wine reds would lock onto vivid sea foam. Freedom was not the sun here, Oriana was. Saboro was. Nero and North and their family, they were the sun that he had flown too close to. 

And his feathers had been clipped accordingly for getting too close.

His missing leg ached, the scars mixed with remainders of intricate reds across his cheeks burned.

"I'm not going back. I'm sorry, Ori."

[Oriana]

---

The dimly lit forest only allowed for paranoia to trap her mind in a flurry of concerns. She’d left her companions to seek out her own demons in solitude, but would that be the exact thing that damns her in the end? No doubt she’d been absent long enough for Saboro to send their trackers, hunters, executioners to find her. Oriana had little faith in a lot these days, wondering just how her absence was effecting the pack she was prepared to die for. Her body went tense, even though there was insecurity brewing behind closed doors, she would be lying to herself if she didn’t feel a spark of fear as to who she was about to face.

The rising moonlight caught the strands of his angelic hair, and Oriana’s throat nearly closed up.

The Queen that demanded to see the face of the hiding man could no longer speak in the wake of it’s truth. Instead, she dropped her crown, her legs uprooted from the bloodied, sharp vines of the earth and dashed toward him. The angel that fell from the sky, the one who truly gave so much that he nearly had anything left for himself. Oriana didn’t even realize what she was doing until her body would've gently collided with his own, hoping the force wasn’t so great as to knock her frail brother over it. The little girl that he watched raise bloomed form the depths of her frozen heart shoved reds into blues and pinks into purples.

He was real, he was alive, he was—

Not in Saboro.

"I'm not going back. I'm sorry, Ori."

(But neither was she.)

Oriana desperately hoped he didn’t shy away from her advances— something within her needed to know he was alive in front of her, actually there and not some figment of her tortured, guilt-ridden mind of exhaustion and dehydration. She could feel him, hear him, smell him— He was very much alive before her as she was to him, only once that ever lasting fairy tale started to fade reality sunk in, the harsh, harsh reality that had she not gone looking for her wounded son, she never would’ve seen him again.

He didn’t want to go back. (What about you, Oriana?)

If Anglachel hadn’t already retaken his space back, Oriana would finally retract, offering a fair amount of distance between the two, eyes dancing across his wounded physique in painful reminder of everything that had happened. “Are you alone?” She didn’t sense anyone else around, but would Anglachel find it weird that she, too, was alone. “I am.” In this moment. She whispered it, almost as if it were some dirty secret that only they were supposed to know of. In some ways, it was exactly that. But in others, she selfishly wanted to make sure her beautiful brother was safe again, he was okay, he could forgive her.

“Don’t go.” She pleaded, quietly. “I won’t take this from you.”

---

[Anglachel]

ANGLACHEL

      Idly, he wondered if this would be the end of the line, and the parts he hated most longed for it to be. But the expression on the woman before him was not of a Sabora about to execute her justice, but of a baby sister. Her wide sea foam eyes that loved and loved and loved. He swallowed back his disappointment as he watched that recognition dawn across her face, and instead clung to the wispy threads of relief in that Oriana would not need to live with the guilt of his blood on her hands.

Blood in; this was not a reprise.

The runaway prince braced himself at the impact of her embrace, and though gentle, it was enough to push the frail nomad onto his haunches. Her touch burned, scorching his skin with hungry tongues of flame. Every nerve wailed for escape – you’ve gotten too close before, you know better, you know better – but Anglachel did not move away. He only pulled her closer, resting his muzzle atop her head. She needed this, he knew she did, and so he would stay. Only for a moment.

Dull reds fell upon the spot she had vacated, her crown abandoned in the dirt, forgotten, discarded. May she never pick it up again. It would try to take root there, but the soil would be too clean, and the thorns and red petals would crumble away to nothing in due time. Anglachel pressed a kiss to the crown of her head where it had once rested. Where it once laid all its burdensome weight. Where its thorns had pierced her skin, and smothered her heart in cruel attempts to snuff out her light. He wished away the wounds where it had pierced her in its toll of blood. He wished away the cursed crown of thorns and roses and poppies, wished for daises and cherry blossoms to bloom in their place. He wished for her to find her softness again, her kindness and happiness, for her to revive what Saboro had stolen.

He wished the red away and hoped she would find love in the softer shades in life.

Are you alone? I am.

Oriana pulled away and Anglachel allowed himself to breathe. The fire continued to scorch his flesh, burning at the scars around his eyes and along his chest, eating the bones that were no longer there. And yet he spared a smile for his little sister. “Yes.” His guilt murmured just as softly.

Don’t go. I won’t take this from you.

His heart faltered, cracked beneath the weight of her plea, but the fire crackled at his paws. A warning. You know better. “Oh, Oriana.” Forehead would press against hers. An apology.

“I can’t stay.”

Would she feel it? Would she understand? This is not a reunion, little sister.

[Arkana]

[ CRIES ]

[Oriana]

---

Deep down within the pockets of her heart was still the same baby sister that Anglachel knew and loved; it was no sin of their mother’s for placing the crown upon her head, but rather the dues of Saboro itself. The repeated pattern of damning their daughters and smothering their children while the world around them chanted the hymns of the red bone, the mother volcano, the continued curse that surrounded that awful (beautiful) pack land that Oriana had called home. That time had come and Oriana naively accepted her sudden birthright, sea foam to sea foam like matching family jewels as the smouldering, suffocating flame, blood and decrepit rotten formed crown went from one daughter to another, and in time it scarred them both.

That crown had sat upon her head from that moment forward. She’d watched an array of emotions, trials and tribulations, acts of betrayal, acts of loyalty, of devotion, of hurt, of struggle— Oriana knew she had to endure it all even when it was strangling her from the inside out and the outside in and piercing her heart in so many places she could barely believe she still had a heart (You do, don’t you?) Even when her lover walked away, her mate walked away, her son walked away, now she walked away. That crown whistled and wheezed and continued to sing it’s enchanting tune to her as a distant reminder she still had a duty. She was still a Queen. Saboro was still her’s.

(She was still Saboro's)

Those wicked chants became distant buzzing like an obnoxious fly from the ground behind her the moment blacks and golds, pinks and purples and reds and indigo meshed together in a familiar embrace. A family affection that Oriana needed. He was right. She absolutely did need it, and maybe he did too, because the reminder that he was here and not within Saboro poked at her gently. Why were they meeting here, of all places? Somewhere in the middle of no where, both led astray and both dragging wounded souls and battered hearts.

A speckled fox like frame unknowingly tugged her bloodlines out from the pits of hell, red strings tugging, tightening or snapping. How many more were left there rotting and weeping in despair?

Her brother’s kiss felt like an angel bestowing her wings, igniting those fiery phoenix feathers again as they continued to struggle to stay burning. They caught some heat, flickered in their glory for moments at a time, but never did they stay aflame. She was the phoenix and he was the flightless angel, fallen from the heavenly cloud he’d made for everyone but himself, giving until he had nothing left. Oriana's kiss could never be so generous, but rather empowering— for that she tried to return the gesture, instead her nose pressed against his scarred chest. She wanted him to keep that heart he so willingly gave away, a reminder for him to keep it close and keep it safe. If Oriana’s fire was to reach anywhere it was to him, around him, vowing to protect him (you hurt him) vowing to give him happiness (you hurt his family) vowing to make sure he was alive (you scarred him!) with an inhale, Oriana’s lungs shuddered as their embrace came to a close.

Her flame danced around his paws and her eyes flickered across his frame. She could tell by face, by his being, that this would not last.

The crown’s voices got louder behind her.

“Oh, Oriana. I can’t stay.”

Like a defiant child, one not far different from the one he might remember (she never was greedy, but she was sure in what she wanted.) her lips framed a frown. “Yes you can.” A firm statement, even with his forehead pressed against her own, he was trying, she could tell. She didn’t deserve his kindness, his forgiveness, but god did she want it. “You… you don’t have to go back.” Is that what he meant? Had he been sent to find her? Oriana didn’t understand why he couldn’t stay.

“Don’t go.” She pleaded again. Distant memories of the same words being spoken in fashion to Lucas during the war. He left, though. Oriana didn’t want to let him go too. But she knew better, Oriana wasn’t stupid but simply naive.

She knew. She watched flowers get pulled from their roots and witnessed them die.

“Anglachel.” A wispy voice fell from her maw, tilting her head up, ears actively ignoring those ugly, paranoid thoughts floating in her head. “Don’t go back.” Another quiet plea, intrinsic in it’s nature like it had been repeated to her many moons over and the words felt more like a convincing ploy for herself.

“I don’t know why you’re here but I won’t tell. I won’t hurt you.” (Never again.) Please just stay with me.

---

[Anglachel]

ANGLACHEL

For once he wished he could be the angel Kroni always said he was — if only to bestow Oriana with a blessing that would keep her safe and soothe her pains. To cast an armor of light and feathers around her good heart, to keep her guarded from the persistent crown of thorns that would surely attempt to take root again and again. But Anglachel was no angel, he was merely a brother who could only hope and wish and hold her tightly. Leave her be. He would beg of the stars, of the world, of Saboro.

At the very least, perhaps the world that had been so cruel could grant him this one wish.

And her gift to him — a kindling piece of her own fire. A precious phoenix's feather and teardrop. The scar tissue across his chest burned at the touch, screamed at the silver haired Icarus to move away, for he had learned that love and kindness and affection were merely a trojan horse for pain and blood hidden within. But Anglachel remained still for her, took her gift with burned, trembling hands and held it close. It would give him the energy for the next stretch of his journey. It would breathe life into him until he reached the land of purple trees and pastel wildflowers.

He let her go with a shaky breath (of grief? or relief?), tired wine reds failing to meet piercing sea-foam in his guilt.

Yes you can. You… you don’t have to go back.

Her voice tugged at his heart, just as it always had. She was right, Anglachel knew she was right. He could stay, a piece of him even wanted to stay. Cling to the frayed threads of his life. But the kindle of fire she had given him burned and licked at his heart. In his lungs. Rattled against his ribcage. She had given him strength, willed for him to keep his heart close. Even from you, little sister. He could stay, he wanted to stay, but — “I won't.” Anglachel amended in a strangled whisper. His silvery head shook, bowing to veil his crumbling expression from her. “I'm sorry, Ori.” He had given her his forgiveness before, when he had laid broken and dying on cold stone floors. But it hadn't been enough. He could forgive and forgive until there was no voice left in him. It would never be enough.

There was nothing left for him to forgive. It's up to you now, Oriana. Do you forgive yourself?

Don’t go.

Words echoed from the past, both times pleading to a healer marching toward lilac fields. Did she know? Would sea green eyes peek past her naivety and denial to see her brother as he was? “I'm sorry.” Anglachel answered, raising his gaze to her once more, a sad smile upon his lips. He could not find it in himself to tell her. Instead, pieces of himself warred within his skull; the wish that she could intuitively know or the hope that she would remain oblivious. Can you see it, little sister? The wounded animal that he was, wandering off to die alone.

I don’t know why you’re here but I won’t tell. I won’t hurt you.

“I know, Ori. I know you won't.” He blinked back tears that threatened to spill over ruined cheeks, stepping forward once more to press his muzzle against her cheek. A kiss to burning scarlet marks, another the scars over the nose, one to her forehead. “I know you won't, but I... I have to go.” His embrace was not a greeting, not a reunion, little sister. It was everything he hoped to convey, a lifetime of hope and love for the little sister he had watched grow up, condensed into a kiss goodnight.

Lithe frame stepped back, wine red eyes sweeping over his baby sister who had grown so much. "You'll be okay. I know you will." But hesitation warred within him, for all he had to do was blink and suddenly she was that little girl again. Wayward and stubborn and a bit lost, but oh so strong. "I — I've never asked for much, Ori. So... Do me a favor. Please, promise me something. Find a lovely place far from the jungle where you can grow a garden, a place prettier than the garden we grew up in. Find that place, grow that garden — maybe plant some of those little blue flowers that you know I like." His voice quivered and choked, but the little flame she bestowed upon him flickered. "Make it into a place you'd want to stay." A place where she could love. A place that could be home far more than Saboro ever was.

"Do that for me, Oriana, please?"

[Oriana]

"Keep my secrets close, our hearts aligned
I see darkness where you see light
Emotions fold, our blood runs dry
I see a future inside your eyes."

---

The flame that licked around the edges of their feet and along the chest of her brother only warmed the heart of the phoenix queen— Her unfortunate, selfishly bred persona wanted to keep her sweet, wounded brother there forever. He was her only weakness now, despite the loss of her family and her loved ones, he managed to keep her grounded to emotions; albeit not always good emotions, but Oriana started to learn to accept the demons she knew. All the haunting memories that came with Anglachel was a source of immediate comfort, but they weren’t all bad. Their youth in within the seemingly whimsical inner ring of Saboro while their parents ruled where the troubles of their lives consisted of finding purpose and in Oriana’s case finding the best poppy in the field. Oh, how age brought pain and sacrifice that no form of parenting or upbringing could properly prepare them for.

Oriana lost a lot, but Anglachel lost more. And yet, she still desperately wanted to cling to the battered, beautiful fallen angel of her brother. For all he did was give, give, give and Oriana was told to take, take and take.

When he leaned back she felt as though the air was being pulled from her lungs. The crown still humming in the foreground, gentle vibrations ringing against her ear as a torturing reminder that this couldn’t be forever. She could no longer suck the life from her barely standing brother, what more could she take from him? But Oriana wanted to learn to give, if to give anything to anyone now, it was him. He sacrificed so much and Oriana no longer wanted to be the monster that reaped the rewards of those who dropped their offerings to her feet. With gritted teeth, she tried to shut out the crown’s hissing and her eyes refocused on him. His gentle, sweet face; silver locks draping around his features like curtains that kept whatever vulnerability he had left hidden to the treachery of the world; perhaps the treachery of her.

“I won't.”

For a moment, there was relief. In that brief second she wanted to sigh, smile even, in the same tone respond to him with confidence that she wouldn’t either. The two of them could rebuild their bond, brother and sister again along the same path back to the fairy tale family book story of happy ever afters. They’d find better lovers, better families, better everything— They’d have each other, Naviti, Scindere. They could be a family again before the wrath of Saboro and it’s poisonous promises ripped them into strands of fray red string. Deep down, Oriana knew family (true family) could prevail. In the end, they always came together for one another, right?

“I'm sorry, Ori.”

As quickly as the smile started to creep, it recoiled, like a wincing wounded animal would retreat into it’s home, lured out by the tasty morsel of hope that was too risky to grab. His apology tugged at her freezing heart, a place that the phoenix flames hadn’t quite reached yet since the devastating shattering of everything she knew and loved. Even after one more final plead, still the response was the same.

“I'm sorry.”

Oriana might’ve whimpered if she weren’t stunned in painful silence, eyes darting back and forth between her scarred kin’s tired ones. She couldn’t figure out where or what he was going to do, but all she knew that it wasn’t with her. He wouldn’t follow her into their new revival, one that Oriana felt determined even more now to bring. They would not walk back into hell together, but instead she wished them to heaven, repairing the remains of their blood red string and the scarlet swirls of their royal lineage stained forever in their characters and on their faces.

“I know, Ori. I know you won't. I know you won't, but I... I have to go.”

The strain in his voice was apparent in his weakening, continually apologetic gestures. The more he spoke the words the stronger his ability to let go grew and that in return made her shaky, quivery, suddenly feeling as though the earth below her was going to give out at any moment. Oriana was never quite sure if she’d see him again, but now that she did, he threatened to leave again. No, it wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. A harsh truth that he didn’t allow her to get too comfortable with the idea that he was here to stay. Had it not have been for her brother’s sweet, calming kiss upon her forehead her rejection might have manifested into something a lot more harsh, violent, unforgiving. Instead, he lulled her into a stunned, accepting reality and not one that resulted in more pain. Just as he was always able to do— her beautiful, martyr brother who never learned to take, standing beside his Queen-sister who never quite learned how to give unapologetically.

But he forgave her, now she needed to forgive herself. Just as he’d hoped, just as he’d wished.

“I know.” Finally, as reality sunk in and the backdrop of her fantasies faded again once more. Perhaps one day she’d learn to stop giving into their alluring and sweet imagery, that she’d know that there is no such things as fairy tales and happy endings…. Or perhaps she simply had yet to find it.

“I know, but it still hurts.” She admitted dryly. I know you have to leave me again.

"You'll be okay. I know you will." Oriana’s eyes drifted away from him, fighting back similar edging tears. Oriana wasn’t one for crying but in this moment it felt right in the most wrong way. She needed to be strong, she’d always needed to be strong. To be the daughter their parents wanted, to be the Queen her pack wanted, to be the lover her ex-mate wanted, the mother her children wanted— Even in this moment she couldn’t bring herself to show weakness to Anglachel. He knew, a woman of hardened exposure, living a life where emotions needed to stuffed down, deep, deeper into a box with the words 'forgotten' written in bloody etching. But he also knew her as the innocent young, baby sister he helped raise. Sometimes even Oriana forgot about the young princess who just wanted to frolic in the fields of poppies and sing to the trees of Saboro's deathly jungle.

That princess needed to remind her that crying was not a sign of weakness.

"I — I've never asked for much, Ori. So... Do me a favor. Please, promise me something. Find a lovely place far from the jungle where you can grow a garden, a place prettier than the garden we grew up in. Find that place, grow that garden — maybe plant some of those little blue flowers that you know I like."

His quivering voice almost cracked her exterior, her icy box of a heart and listening to his words; she could picture it. A beautiful garden full of poppies and blue flowers. Oriana wanted to choke and cough as she realized her lungs strained for the oxygen she refused it while remaining as still and stoic as she could, for she feared moving might allow her to crack and shatter in front of older brother. Closing her eyes, one small tear managed to drip down into her cheek, quickly melting itself into the crimson scrolls across her features. “I’ll do anything for you.” She murmured quietly as she continued to process his request.

"Make it into a place you'd want to stay. Do that for me, Oriana, please?"

After a moment of silence, she inhaled with an unsteady breath as her lungs burned, turning her head toward him and trying to force a broken smile upon her face. “I promise, but…” She trailed at first, glossy eyes flickered across her brother’s face, taking in all of him knowing it could be a long time before she got to see his angelic, scarred, beautiful face again. But it wouldn’t be forever, because— “Only if you promise you’ll come see it, one day.”

The string isn’t broken yet, we’ll find one another again. Won’t we, Brother?

---

"The world isn't big enough to live it on your own
I see fire in your eyes and I feel fire in my soul
You're gonna make it through this I just know
Keep it in your heart, it's buried deep within your bones
Don't you come home or I will never let you go
You're gonna make it through this I just know."