Page 4 of Winter Princess
Without warning, the pain disappears and my eyes fly open, my senses fully aware again. I am surrounded by a circle of flames; so high they're licking at the ceiling. Somehow the smoke of the fire is kept outside of the circle around me, otherwise I'd likely be unconscious already. I concentrate, the way I usually do when I try to make a flame appear. But all I can do is light a candle; I've never tried to extinguish it.
Stop, please stop, I beg in my mind, but nothing changes. If anything, the flames are getting stronger. My kitchen is no more and I through the haze, I can see how the fire has spread through the rest of my flat. I am surrounded by a sea of flames. Even if I knew how to leave this circle, I'd never make it out alive. I just hope my parents got out in time.
"Mum! Dad!" I shout, but the roaring of the flames swallows my cries. I step forward, hoping that the circle might follow me. Instead, I singe my fingers on the fire wall. Sucking on them, I try again to concentrate on the flames.Stop. Extinguish. End.
It's not working. The ceiling above me is creaking; soon it will collapse, burying me under it. At least fire moves upwards, so maybe it hasn't spread to my parent's flat below mine yet. Maybe the floor won't collapse. Maybe they'll still be able to live in this place once I'm gone, once I've burned it all and myself.
Sooty tears are streaming down my face. How could everything get so out of control? Did my birth mother know? Why didn't she warn me? Why didn't anyone warn me my magic could do this? Had I known, I'd spent the night somewhere else, in some remote field where I couldn't hurt anybody.
Even though I have no control over the fire, I can feel how it's draining the energy out of me. It's using my energy to fuel its hunger. My legs wobble but I stay standing. I don't want to die on the floor, pitifully lying there, awaiting my end. I'd rather stand and look death into the eye.
The circle around me is slowly becoming smaller. The fire walls are closing in on me. The heat is becoming unbearable and I can smell my hair burning.
I guess this is the end.
I prepare myself. Once, they burned witches at the stake. Now, I'm burning myself. My magic is killing me. Oh what irony.
I feel faint, but if I fall now, I will fall into the flames. Need to stay strong.
Voices in the distance.
Then, figures, four dark silhouettes walking through the fire, unharmed. The flames are avoiding them - all except for the fire wall around me. When they stand close to my fiery prison, I can see that they are all young men, larger than average, but their features are hidden behind the smoke.
One of them is saying something, but I can't hear him through the flames. I try to raise my hand to my ears to show him that I cannot understand him, but the fire has crept closer again and I burn my hand, screaming. He shouts again, and then they're walking around the fire column until they stand in a circle. Four men, in symmetry, like a compass.
I feel something in the air, like a soft, gentle breeze that strokes my cheek. Then something is ripped from me, and I pass out.
Darkness.
***
It's cold when I wake up. I don't need to think long about what happened, it immediately rushes back into my mind. The fire, the flying cutlery, the heat, the fear, the pain. Everything out of control. Feeling helpless. Trapped. A tear runs down my face, too late to be of much significance.
"Hey, easy," a deep voice whispers. I look up, only to find four men staring down at me. And behind them, my parents. Through their legs, I recognise my street. The sky is filled with dark grey smoke and I can still smell burning. Apparently, the fire didn't disappear when I passed out. It's still devouring the house I grew up in.
"How are you feeling?" the same guy asks and gently lays a hand on my forehead. He's kneeling next to me, his bright blue eyes examining me closely. They're ocean-blue with turquoise specks around the pupil. I've never seen eyes this vibrant before. Blond hair is a mess on his forehead; it looks like he just got out of bed, but this effect likely took him hours in front of the mirror. His face is perfectly symmetric, his skin flawless. I know immediately that he isn't human. He's not a mage either - mages look human on the outside, and even though some can change their looks with their magic, they'd never be able to look this perfect.
His warm hand disappears from my forehead and I shiver. It's strange how not long ago I was almost burned to death, and now I'm cold. My teeth are beginning to chatter and goose bumps are covering my skin.
"Careful, she's flaring again," another man says, and four pairs of feet step away from me. It's probably better that way. I hurt people. I almost killed my parents.
The cold is taking over my body. My breath is coming out in a soft cloud. I'm shivering, unable to control it. Something touches my cheek, and when I look up, I can see snowflakes raining down on me. There's a sort of milky bubble where they start, hiding the view of the sunny sky. It's like I'm in my own little microclimate. Fighting against the shivers, I roll to one side and sit up. The semi-translucent dome is taller than me and about twice as wide.
People are standing outside of it - the four men, my parents, and I can see some of our neighbours coming out of their houses. Sirens are ringing in the distance, but I am too cold to care. Ice flowers are forming on the bubble, slowly blocking out the view. It's like someone is building an igloo around me. My jaw is hurting from all the teeth chattering. I have lost all feeling in my hands and feet. The snow falling down on me is getting thicker, and harder. It's slowly turning into hail.
Suddenly, something bumps against the dome. Another hit, this time from the other side. Hands are pressed against the milky substance, four pairs of them. Just like with the fire column earlier, there's one in each direction. Four men, fighting against my magic.
The dome is quivering and thick gashes are appearing on its surface. With a high pitched crack, it collapses, covering me in icy shards and a heap of snow.
A burst of energy is drawn out of me and my legs buckle. Before my knees hit the ground, arms wrap around me and pull me up. They're warm, hot almost, and pull me against an even warmer body. I'm still shivering and lean into the warmth, rubbing against it in an effort to dispel the cold that is clouding my mind.
Someone clears his throat above me. I look up and jump back. I was pressed against a man I don't know, and he's laughing at me. Oops. But he was warm, that's my excuse. He pulled me against him. It wasn't my doing at all. I'm innocent.
Then why do I feel so ashamed? I rub my arms, missing the warmth of his body. The cold air makes way to a warm breeze that gently hugs me. I sigh contentedly and close my eyes, ignoring the stares I'm most likely getting. The warmth is feeling so good. If it wasn't air, I'd hug it back.
"How many flares has she been through?" A man's voice, unfamiliar.
"Flares?" my father asks.
