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[Gilva Snowsong]

6th of Summer, 514

Gilva suddenly awoke in his bed in a cold sweat. He felt a sense of fear, and he had a headache, though he wasn't entirely sure why. It was almost as if his dream had faded from his mind. But the sweat was evidence that whatever it was about, it wasn't pleasant. There was a vague image of a woman's face that entered his mind, but within that moment he was unable to put a name to it. In order to try and gather his bearings, the boy decided that he should head outside for some fresh air.

When Gilva stepped outside of his cottage on West Street, he was quickly swept into the moving crowd. No matter what time, or what day, it always seemed busy. There was always something interesting going on within the city of Zeltiva. But this didn't mean that Gilva was always present to experience it. Nor did it indicate that he was always apart of it. However, he did find himself often wishing that the limelight would be his. While he was walking towards East Street, the boy overheard some people talking.

"Hey, remember that performance three days ago? That girl was incredible! I had never seen anyone do anything like that before in my entire life! I have to admit, it was possibly the best night of my life. Her body was just so..."

Gilva stood still amongst the crowd, and didn't hear the rest of the man's sentence. He was beginning to swell with jealousy. He had only hoped that he could be talked about the way that girl did. No one seemed to even care about his presence in Zeltiva, yet that girl had already established her status. Though this wasn't necessarily true. There were some people in Zeltiva that briefly held some interest in the boy such as Rosa and Sarai, but Gilva needed more fuel for his ego. If that girl could simply waltz around and acquire fans, then why couldn't he?

The men carried on with their conversation, but the distance between them and Gilva widened to where he was unable to hear it's conclusion, "...So wonderful! Who would've thought that I would have been lucky enough to see a girls clothes get devoured by her own volition in public!? It may have been a horrific experience for her, but at least I was able to prosper because of it right...until my wife found out..."

Spurned by his jealousy of the unknown girl's fame, Gilva decided that he would have to find her and reap her reputation for his own. But the boy lacked precise details of the girls dance style and her appearance. Perhaps if he wandered around the intersection between East and West Street, he would be able to obtain more information about this girl. With his mind set on discovering the girl's identity, Gilva chaotically walked through the crowd. He was so determined, that he was unintentionally bumping into people and interrupting their day. Some of these people felt scorned to the effect that they didn't allow their eyes to move off the boy. He had successfully, albeit unknowingly, drawn attention to himself.

[I'saya Tuvalik]

.

Sullen and cranky, the past several days had passed in a slow, stalling droll for the Tuvalik. Her first performance, while wildly successful, had also been a deep, festering embarrassment. Several people had applauded her efforts, asking I'saya for a moment of her time to gush over the state of affairs, but others, primarily men that remembered nothing but the exposure of I'saya's naked body at the end of the performance met her only with jeers. Some asked for a second peek, or those that had failed to attend asked for a first, I'saya's response was turning away from the humiliation. The desire festered in her to strike back, to lash out and burn them, strangle their words with fire and smoke, but it was not the right way to go about it. Instead, she trudged on.

The Tuvalik left her performance gear at the World's End Grotto this day, her body adorned in her standard practice gear, a black tunic that spilled over her torso, fitted at the her shoulders and breasts, though by the waist and abdomen, it loosened. The tunic was secured by a silver sash, allowing the Tuvalik full freedom of movement unhindered by flapping clothing. Breeches, cut off at the calf, adorned her legs, black in colour. The clothes were meant to draw attention to her hair, fiery tresses that ordinarily fanned along her shoulders and traced the surface of her back. Today, it was tied with her headband, kept in a ponytail that followed the line of her spine. I'saya made no attempt at avoiding people. She trudged forward, head held high, though her fists were clenched with the building fury of her own self-disappointment.

The Azenth's gnosis would flare were she feeling someone else's emotions, how they boiled over and plagued her, bursting forth and exploding in her thoughts like a surging, welling volcano. She held the eruption in, though it quickly materialized in a different form, djed siphoning from the depths of the Tuvalik's soul, permeating from the pores of her hands, coating the skin with vermilion res. As I'saya pressed forward, passing the Docks and towards East and West streets once again, she formed the Res into gloves around her hands. It was disguised as so, no one paying attention to the girl's hands as they noticed her face, several eyes widened in what I'saya dreaded as recognition.

She began to walk faster, the Res just beginning the process of decay, though when she passed the eyes of passerby, she set the Res ablaze, allowing both the pleasure from Transmutation and the glorious, sensuous heat to course through her hands as she sought to calm herself down. Her Azenth flared with the absorption of the heat, and when she found the plaza she had performed at once again, she could not help but remember the joy of performance.

Several strides forward were taken just as heads began to turn from an unsettling disturbance, a rude shoving disrupting the flow of the people's walk just as I'saya gained speed. Four strides were taken to gain momentum before she leaped forward, tucking her knees and rolling her body forward, her hands rising to catch her as she landed upon the floor, a flick of the wrist and a forward adjustment of weight allowing I'saya to smoothly transition into a roll before she rose to her feet again. Though the coal surface from her performance was scraped away, a square, flat surface was left underneath, a fifteen foot space of flat stone that I'saya adored so.

Bright laughter bubbled from the Tuvalik's lips as she twirled within a self-drawn circle, oblivious to the goings on of the gathered folk until she felt a sharp, foreboding sensation. Bubbling emotions, envy at the forefront, piercing through her mind, her laughter fading to a weak giggle before fading entirely. The Tuvalik followed the sensation, her head turning to follow the direction of the surge, a frown pursing her lips as she noted an extremely rude young man who obliviously surged through the crowds entering into East Street. It was a sight to behold, how he so brazenly dashed through with little care for those around him. But I'saya shrugged it off, deciding to ignore the man for the moment, but for some reason, the feelings he gave off... They unsettled her.

I'saya held her arms behind her back, her breast puffed out as she stretched the muscles within her back and triceps, intent on, now that she was out, at least getting a little bit of practice.

Maybe the reputation will go away if people see me perform without burning off all of my clothes...

Common | Arumenic

[Gilva Snowsong]

The boy was suddenly halted when someone had angrily grabbed his arm. He hadnt noticed that he was disturbing others; but incidentally the face he saw was one that he recognized. In fact, it should have been impossible for her to be there. It was his dead sister. Seeing her before him ignited another headache for the boy, which was very similar to the one that he had woken up with. It didn't occur to him that the two instances could have been related, because he still lacked his memories of the previous night. But the vague image of a woman's face that he was able to recall, was not that of his sister.

"Hey, stupid. Watch your manners, mom and dad did not raise you to soil our Vanthan reputation. Yours on the other hand, is still up for debate. After all, you're so stupid that you didn't even realize you walked right past your goal!"

His sister was clearly looking at someone behind him as she taunted him, but he didn't fully comprehend the message that she was trying to convey.

"Or maybe you knew that the girl was behind you, and you were trying your best to avoid her so that you wouldn't lose in front of everyone. You won't be any better here than you were in Avanthal, boy! We wasted our lives for nothing, I bet you haven't even began taking classes at the university yet! Since my life was traded for yours, I think its only fair for you to do something for me. I want you to turn around and face that girl. Gaze upon her and realize just how much of an insignificant little brat you are. I want you to look at her and see everything that you will never be. I want you to suffer!"

His sisters words greatly confused him. He didn't understand why she was being so spiteful towards him. Something was obviously wrong. When the image of his sister disappeared, the mystery behind her appearance was solved; she wasn't really there. The boy then surmised that this may have been a side effect of his headache. It was the only logical explanation, because even though it was a product of his imagination, he didn't have a conscious experience of his sister being so negative.

However, she had successfully hit a nerve. When Gilva turned around, a curious sight unfolded before him. All of the eyes that were previously on him, had turned their focus to the same view as the boy. There was a girl dressed in black, with fiery red hair standing in an area that was noticeably different from the natural terrain. It was interesting that the boy failed to notice a makeshift performance stage near his cottage for three whole days. This revelation only further demonstrated the boy's ineffectiveness to study his environment. Adaptability on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

Snowsong's next course of action was meant to be daring. Since the center of attention was the person on the stage, he decided that he could fulfill the role of being the person on the stage. The boy began to force his legs to move, faster and faster, eventually forming into a run. When he reached the edge of the stage, Gilva thrust the palms of his hands down onto the stage and propelled his body into the air. Afterwards, he dragged his legs down to the stage floor and completed a sloppily modified version of a handspring. Because he lacked the necessary skill, his body mechanics were more akin to a cartwheel than a handspring but he attempted it nonetheless.

The boy suddenly fell to his knees, and forced all of his weight down on them so that they would be the focal point for his next move. He then rotated his body on a circular axis stopping once he had faced the direction of the girl. A small smirk grew on his face, he planned to usurp the attention for himself. But he wasn't heartless enough to completely ruin her dance performance. In truth, Gilva wanted to watch it. His sisters words had truly irked him to the extent that he had to watch her dance, and prove to everyone that he was better.

Several people in the audience chuckled at the strange sight before them. Two people isolated on a square made of coal that spanned only fifteen feet. Even though they were of different genders they were both donning dark colored outfits. However, the boy was wearing a grey cloak and black pants which ultimately gave him more restrictions on his movements. They could have posed as a duo, but the girl's previous performance as well as the boy's lack of proper dancing attire clearly indicated that this was not the case.

[I'saya Tuvalik]

Giggles bubbled from the Tuvalik's lips as she watched the strange, black-haired man race towards her and make a sorry attempt at a somersault. To the Azenth, it looked as if he were trying to start some kind of fight that he wouldn't be able to win, a grin materializing upon the firedancer's lips as she decided to show him up. There was no reason for the conflict save for the fact that the man had stepped on the Azenth's turf. He invaded the coal space of the square, a space which, if the Tuvalik desired to, could set ablaze and subject the dancer to a great deal of pain which could lead to death, but there was no reason for it. I'saya was, of course, affronted by the sudden surge towards her, but there was very little reason to retaliate with violence. Rather...

I'll fight flips with better flips, obviously! This guy's an amateur, I'll show him what it is to really be an acrobat.

The Tuvalik ensured that she had eye contact with the invader before she decided to proceed. She gauged the distance between them, a total of seven feet upon the stage, which made it completely feasible to do as she planned. She sprinted towards the man, two strides making it so that she was mere inches from his face before she pressed all of her weight forward, bending her knees as she took the second stride. She used the momentum to push off with her front foot, quickly lifting her back and curling both to a point at her knees.

The Azenth's arms flung upwards as her body weight shifted back, I'saya steering her body so that she was placed palms down upon the floor, her body suspended in a completely vertical line before she allowed her limber form to part her legs. The Tuvalik's hands, arms and core protested the motion, strain put upon each of them, though she quickly adjusted her weight again, pulling herself into an upside ball upon the floor, feet planted firmly on the ground before she jumped to a standing position, laughter bubbling from her lips. She had every reason to be excited, for she was in the midst of performance, the conflict between the extremely angry (That's really intense rage...) individual, and the Azenth would result in theatrical genius.

I'saya was more than willing to manipulate the raging young man's feelings for the sake of the crowd. He challenged her, and she'd retaliate. And have quite a lot of fun in the process.

"Your move, hotshot."

The Tuvalik winked at her challenger, taking one step forward to further goad him before allowing him his space to do what he pleased.

Common | Arumenic

[Gilva Snowsong]

The boy was beginning to realize why his "sister" had been taunting him. The girl clearly had more skill than he did. In fact, the flip that she had just completed had fully surpassed his expectations. He was more than impressed with her talents, but there was no way that he was supposed to let her know that. Not now at least, after all, he needed to prove his superiority. But this was in fact, the beginning of the end. The girl had forced the boy into a gray area in terms of skill. While she was more experienced to the point that she could perform more acrobatic feats than the boy could, he still had a few tricks. It was apparent that in acrobatics alone he would lose since she had the ability to perform flips while his skill was solely limited to handstand based motions, but he was sure that he would be able to generate an edge by combining his dancing and acrobatics.

Upon hearing her comment, Gilva itched with excitement. Dancing with another person, especially with your reputation on the line was a very thrilling moment. It caused his blood to boil. But he was still very much jealous. Even though this should have been a fun opportunity, there was something more to the girl that was rubbing him the wrong way. Perhaps it was due to her red hair? It was highlighting her features, and drawing much more attention to her than his dark attire did for him. When she winked at him, he was fully offset. He had to respond then and there, lest he preferred to leave the stage.

It was nice of the girl to give him space to perform a move. She was showing him much more respect than he did to her when he forced himself onto her stage. But it was practically an unnecessary gesture. Even though his body was long, he didn't need as much space since he was unable to perform moves that required a lot of space. The most he could do right now was play to his strengths.

The boy quickly hopped up to a full upright position. He made sure to establish eye contact with the girl before he made his move. He would concede the comment, but to one up her on the wink, the boy lifted his eyebrows twice before he thrust his right hand down to his side towards the floor. When his palm touched the floor, Snowsong immediately kicked his legs into the air began to balance himself on one hand. This move was seemingly unimpressive, for he heard nothing from the crowd. So he decided to "kick it up" a notch. Literally.

Gilva used his legs to kick up towards the sky. By doing so, this motion generated enough force that by pushing off the floor with his right hand, allowed his entire body to hop in place. When he came back down, he had to make sure that more of his weight was on his fingers than his palm. By having his weight on his fingers, the boy was able to maintain balance for this move. The boy hopped an additional two times, which began to impress the children in the crowd though the adults didn't seem to care as much.

Not wanting to simply end there, the boy decided that since the girl had ended with a challenge, he should return the favor. Instead of immediately dismounting from his handstand, the boy tilted his lower body so that both of his legs were pointing directly at his newfound rival. But that still just wasn't enough! The boy's spitefulness was just too much to let it end there. But how could he irk her, the way that she was getting under his skin? Suddenly it dawned on the boy. It's not like she knew how he was feeling. So, he would do the opposite of allowing her the pleasure of seeing how he felt. While he was still poised in the handstand, the boy brought his left hand to his lips, kissed it and blew it towards his competitor along with her stolen wink.

Have at it, darling.

[I'saya Tuvalik]

.
His moves were basic, but what I'saya was much more impressed by was his tenacity and inventiveness. He used his lack of experience and turned into an asset. Even if it meant that his moves looked rather ridiculous and did not hold up to scrutiny, I'saya appreciated it. But, a burning desire to win created friction in the heart of the Tuvalik. While the young Azenth could feel the burning desire to prove himself radiating from him, I'saya could not help herself. She was obviously more skilled and she had to consider the crowd. The hearts of the crowd and their desire for entertainment overrode the one person's need to feel superior. Their wants for entertainment were akin to the raging spots of the sun itself. Flares in the mouth of the flame. Each heart that the Tuvalik felt, roiling emotions, pains and needs for distraction etched upon the starving minds of the Zeltivan people. I'saya did not know their plight, the hunger, the scarcity, but she knew their pain.

And she would do her utmost to see it brought to the flames, incinerated by the sheer light of an Azenth. The Tuvalik's heart swelled with her resolution as a deep breath filled her lungs, the life of oxygen coursing awareness through her body. A budding, surging delight coursing through her as Ivak's task to her sailed to the forefront of her thoughts. "You will walk the world as a tool of entertainment, a spread of the rush of exhilaration and the knowledge of sensation. A Tuvalik, like your brothers and your forebearers. Do not betray yourself again, and most of all, do not betray the course I have set you upon." Ivak's words flooded her mind, the coursed through her like a drug that she craved. The delight of her God, a divine-borne mission to be what Ivak wanted her to be...

It sent her forward. The Tuvalik took two steps forward, then swept her feet from underneath her. The motion would send her to the ground, where she caught herself on her hands and in a push up position. Her core would then stretch, protest present in the motion, but she did not yield. Flexibility was the mark of an acrobat, and I'saya's body obeyed the demand for it, though she would require further practice to perfect this art. The young Azenth's legs curled upwards, the muscles of her thighs protesting next as they too stretched, but with a movement of her hands, she suspended herself upwards, pushing her body into the air in a curled position before she shot her legs up. A modified lift that kept her chest low to the ground but curled her legs forward, one extended back to her hands so as to allowthe other to rest upon it. I'saya could not hold the posture for more than five ticks, but it had elicited the expected reaction.

Cheers spilled from the lips of spectators as I'saya Tuvalik rose from her stance, shaking her body to loosen the tension of the knotting muscles. The movement had drained from her so much more than she had anticipated, but it was a success, "Got anything else?"

The Tuvalik was breathless at this point, recovering from the exertion of the movement, but she had one trick up her sleeve left. One last thing that could set her apart if he deemed himself worthy of another whip-lashing on the performance floor. For the moment, I'saya allowed herself to bask in the elation of the spectators. The crowd spilled awe into their hearts, and I'saya dedicated all of it to her beloved Ivak.

They cheer for the purpose you have given me, dear Ivak. I give their praise to you, for you have given me... everything. Purpose, love, an existence of worth. Thank you.

A single tear streamed from the woman's cheek as a grin materialized upon her features.
Common | Arumenic

[Gilva Snowsong]

The girl's response had caught his attention. That move, he recognized a modified version of it. The way she did it however, was a clear indicator of the difference between their styles. She was using the politically-correct style of dancing while Gilva's was less professional and still rough around the edges. Though there was still something that allowed him to believe that he held the advantage. Her style was more akin to telling a story, while his was more likely to split jaws. Or so he thought. The crowd was clearly in awe of her, more than they were of him. It was as if he hadn't even existed!

The boy dismounted from his handstand, and stood on his feet. A small pout formed on his lips while he examined the girl. Tick. Tick. Tick. If he didn't respond soon, he would have automatically forfeited! But what was there for him to do? If he mimicked her move yet again, especially the form of it that he was familiar with, would it be enough for everyone? Would it be enough for himself? His sister was right. He wasn't fit to be a dancer if he couldn't even stand up for himself in the face of his greatest adversary.

The girl's hair is what sparked a thought in his mind. It was red, red like fire. There were two moves the boy had learned that had origins of fire. A flare, and an air flare. Though just thinking about these moves was dangerous for the boy. He had yet to complete a full rotation of a flare, so an air flare would be completely over the line! But jealousy was taking root in his soul. If he didn't succeed in dancing, then he would have to return to the simple art of storytelling. Not to say that he didn't enjoy it, but he liked being able to boast about his tenaciousness in the arts. He didn't want to be limited.

Gilva took a deep breath in preparation for his response. He hopped and twisted his lips to the left. Using the momentum from the hip twist, he thrusted his right foot as far to the left of his body as possible, until his heel touched the ground. Once it made contact, he pulled back in the opposite direction forcing the big toe of his right foot down into the ground as hard as he could. This preparation worked like a slingshot, in that he pushed his leg in one direction forcefully, so that he could bring it back and utilize the momentum. The force generated by his right leg was so strong, that it caused the toes of his left leg to point into the sky until he was on his heel. This pose had essentially caused the boy to take the form of a "v" with his legs. He immediately thrust his left hand as close as possible to his right foot, and kicked his legs into the air.

So far, so good. he thought. The boy had successfully completed the half of an air flare that he was familiar with, since it was very much similar to performing a handstand. The only problem was, he wasn't completely used to the concept of an air flare. It required a level of balance, coordination, and knowledge of momentum that the boy simply lacked. He had generated so much force, that his legs continued to whip around in the air during the move and his entire body had followed suit. He had let his ego get to him, and now it was time for him to pay. The move was too powerful for him, and lest he risk breaking his arm, he had no choice but to let go of the ground.

It all happened so fast. When his hand let go of the ground, his entire body was briefly suspended in the air. The boy only had a tick to end the move for a proper landing. Crash! Gilva's body slammed roughly onto the floor. The material that it was made of did nothing to protect him. Pain surged through his body, though it was nothing compared to the humiliation that he had just caused himself. He heard the snickers of laughter that emanated from the crowd. The boy's body shamefully rolled off the performance stage, and glanced over at his competitor.

"Go ahead, rub it in my face!" he spat at her. The embarrassment caused tears to well up in his eyes. But he tried his best to prevent them from falling out.

[I'saya Tuvalik]

The Tuvalik's vision was blurred from the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Two in number, though they welled with the unbridled pride that she held in the growing celebration of I'saya's talents. The purpose she was given, the strength to persevere and the sheer radiance of the blessing upon her breast was overwhelming. The young Azenth nearly fell to her knees from the intensity, wobbling in place as she basked in reverie. I'saya was not paying attention to Gilva. And this did not change until he had fallen on his back, the loud thud audible on the charcoal surface.

The sound threw I'saya from her musings, vibrant brown eyes blinking several times, her tears streaking upon her cheeks as she cast her gaze down at the man. Pity marked her features as she noted the tears beginning to flow from his own eyes. They were not happy, nor was he. She could sense it. Azenth could be a curse just as powerfully as it was a gift. The embarrassment charging through the young man's mind compelling I'saya to step forward. The young man was a worthy foe, and the crowd, who was before entertained by I'saya so quickly turned to ridicule. The woman knelt beside the young Vantha, extending her hand out in a gesture of mercy.

"You were a worthy opponent, there's no reason to be agitated. I have trained as an acrobat since my youth, born into it. As a child, I was raised to jump with flames, and at the time, my body could not weather the flames. Burns, falls. Praise be to Ivak that my wounds were not permanent for it would damage my appearance as a performer."

I'saya stood up, and if she was allowed to, she would attempt to pull the Vantha to his feet, a small smile gracing the girl's features as she murmured, "That competition really got my blood boiling! It was such a privilege to perform with someone. Thank you so much,"

The smile grew as I'saya motioned to herself, leaning forward ever so slightly. If the Vantha looked at I'saya, her gnosis mark, the vermillion flames of Azenth, would be clearly visible just at the point where the material of her corset met the skin.

"I am I'saya Tuvalik, my performing friend. May I learn your name? It's great to know your rivals, after all."

She winked at the Vantha in a show of good grace. She dearly wished to have a competitor. Even if the young man was not in a position to be a competitor to her just yet, he could learn and grow. The possibility of conflict over an audience motivated I'saya to work harder.

[Gilva Snowsong]

The boy bit his bottom lip in frustration. The moment that she extended her hand, she had sealed her status as being better than him. Both as a performer and also as a person. Gilva was not so humble, and if the tables had been turned he would not have been so quick to help the girl. Such a thing only goes to show how much the Vantha's heart had become corrupted by jealousy and pride. He was raised to be kind towards others but his desire to win had caused him to abandon his heritage.

And that was the only thing that prevented him from venting his true feelings at the time. Every fiber of his being wanted to lash out at the girl, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. Unbeknownst to him, his feelings weren't as hidden from her as he thought they were. After all, his eyes has taken on a strange form. Heterochromia. One eye was red while the other was green, revealing that he was both angry and in pain.

Her words went in one ear, and out of the other. None of them even made any sense to him anyway. Flames and burns? What the heck does that have to do about anything? He finally took her hand and was raised to his feet. Some of the laughs from the crowd solidified, and more embarrassment was brought onto the Vantha. He tried to fake a smile in response to the girl's. Though it was obvious that he was straining due to the unintentional gritting of his teeth.

Gilva couldn't help but notice the strange tattoo-like mark on the girl's body. It reminded him of Vantha that had been marked by Morwen, but this clearly wasn't her doing. If he had been listening earlier, he would have understood that it was from Ivak. Her identity had pulled him away from the mark. I'saya Tuvalik. He would be sure to seek her out again.

"Gilva Snowsong."

The fact that the drama had practically ceased to exist didn't sit too well with the audience. They wanted more. The girl had clearly won, but she had yet to atone for her past performance. The consolation between the two was not the type of ending that they expected. "Encore, encore!" they shouted.

Gilva cracked under the pressure. He had enough of dancing for a while. Enough of Zeltiva. It wasn't going the way that he wanted, for his pride had been greatly injured. Without sticking around to see or hear what happened next, he went home to wallow in despair behind closed doors.

[I'saya Tuvalik]

Crushing, overwhelming darkness was all that poured into I'saya's mark as she offered her hand to the boy. Two words were all that had emerged from his lips, but what she felt, the sheer scale of the embarrassment and humiliation that crushed the boy was felt in the girl.

I did this...

I'saya no longer felt the waves of elation, the crowd dispersed after the boy, Gilva Snowsong, walked away. And I'saya was left alone. Not physical solitude, for the world went about its business, passing the performer by as they went about her business. From shady dealers to legitimate, wealthy business people, the Tuvalik heiress paid attention to none of it.

The teenager fell to her knees in the release of realization. Devastation. Disgrace. Betrayal. The Tuvalik had succeeded in her ability to entertain the crowd, but was crushed by the fact that she had, unintentionally wounded the very partner who had made such a spectacle possible. Enjoyment was what the Tuvalik had reaped from it, significance, worth.

Yet the other person was destroyed by what had caused her to grow. Several chimes passed in silence as I'saya crossed her legs and sat upon the charcoal square. The gravely surface itched at her skin, but she paid no mind to it. Was it a betrayal to Ivak's cause for her to sacrifice the one to brighten the existences of the many? Was it wrong to subjugate a person and utilize them, then crush their souls in order to appease the masses? I'saya felt like a murderer, crushing the Snowsong boy's soul much like an assassin gouged into the physical body of their target.

I'saya's eyes narrowed for several moments before she placed her fingers upon the surface of the charcoal. Both hands caressed the ground, though I'saya did not stop there. Frustration rose into her soul, demanding release and satisfaction. Ivak did not mean for her to bottle up what she was. The God of Emotional Upheaval had given her a task, and did she succeed in it? There was a debate there, but who was she going to mince the words with? Herself? Gilva? Ivak himself? No, she would have her soul fight the battle for her, instead.

A sob wracked the girl's body as Res poured from the depths of her soul. Vibrant vermillion gel oozed to the floor, before she tasked it to turn to gas. The gas dispersed over the surface of the charcoal, spanning several feet in a circle around the Tuvalik before it once again gelled. The liquid stained the charcoal surface, I'saya allowing the deep chills to plunge down her spine, the debate between entertainment and destruction cycling within her before she ignited the uppermost layer of the gel.

The coals burned immediately, the orange glow cast upon the floor's surface. I'saya rose to her feet to avoid from setting her clothes ablaze for the second time, her feet quickly taking her to the platform. She sat down upon it as she watched the flames burn within the coals. Unevenly distributed and cast about, not all of the Res was tasked with the purpose of ignition. The Tuvalik cast thoughts through her mind as she held the focus of the spell with her hands, the gestures allowing her the control.

Does a fire not require fuel to burn? Was Gilva a twig cast into the flame to perpetuate it? Was the crowd just that? Illuminated and inspired by the sacrifice of the twig? Or is it too much to legitimize ruining his life to entertain a few people for a little while? Why is this so difficult? Why am I asking myself this?!

Why did he have to take it that way?!! It was just fun. All it was meant to be was fun!

The thoughts grew louder as I'saya screamed mentally. Layers of Res burned without her quite meaning for it to do so. The Res spiked upwards, directed by the turmoil she felt within, pleasure seeping down the curvature of her spine as she finished her thought,

Yes! It's fine! He ASKED for this to happen. He came up to ME! He willingly walked into the flames. A sacrifice for the greater entertainment of others! It's fine, I'saya... It's... fine!

With the last word she spiked skyward the remainder of her Res, pillars of flame three feet in height, three in number rising as vibrant laughter coursed from her lips.

It was... absolutely fine! Fuel to the fire!

A smile graced the girl's lips, I'saya pushing herself off from the platform and onto the ground just as the coals died away. Deep, coursing pleasure flowed down her spine, as she looked up at the sky. She would linger for half a bell, thoughts flurried through her mind, with and without direction. It was only when the thoughts died away that she gathered her things to leave the charcoal stage. It was spent, dead. I'saya would have to repair the charcoal the next time she used it, if she decided to perform in this particular space again.

I don't think I do want to. This place... it's dead to me, now. To grander pastures, right?

Right.