Burning [Chaos and Stare]

I knew before they reached my cell that they were coming for me.

It was the decidedly languorous footsteps that struck fear into every inmate, the sharp rap of their heels echoing down the long hallway. My cellmate hadn't done anything to warrant pain, just a few painstakingly carved words that said so much but did so little. We were alone in our little slice of hell, just the two of us and the sharp barbs we coated in foam as we grew to know the other through the endless days trapped without daylight. My stomach ached and my eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but I still grit my teeth and raised my jaw stubbornly when the Peacekeeper - young, fragile, easier to throw off guard - stomped up to the cell and jangled the keys.

"DeRicasho," he snapped gruffly, but I could hear the tremor of unease under his words. "you're coming with me." My lips curled upwards into a snarl even as he entered the small room, uniform painfully white against the dull cinderblock. I held my wrists out in front of me but kept them close, forcing him to move forward. As the metal reached out to snap around, I jerked forward and pushed him off his feet. He swore angrily and surged forward, clipping me on the temple and stunning me against the wall. "You fucking bitch!" he growled, snapping the cuffs onto my wrists and yanking me forward. "Just for that I'm sure Cassius will have something special for you. He's a sick bastard."

"Why, does he make you call him Mommy when he rams you from behind?" I spat, ignoring the muted snicker from the other Peacekeeper that had come to investigate the nosie. Another whack to the head, stronger this time. I stumbled but didn't fall, shaking the pain from my head as a piece of cloth found its way into my mouth and around my neck. "Fucking hell, they get more and more stupid as the days go by." Just before I was wrenched from the room, I made eye contact with Yaa. Be careful. Always be alert. Don't worry, I'll be fine.

We traveled from one end of the compound to another, always punctuated by a swift jab to the ribs if I slowed down. My muscles cramped with the lack of movement these past days but I simply set my brows into a frown, blinking away the hazy pain that had begun to sink its claws into my skull. Words slung by me and I managed to grasp onto them as we passed, things that didn't make sense separately but began to come together as a whole. I perked up at the mention of Whitestone and wondered how they had managed to get her real name, sealed away within her skull. Maybe they'd already broken her?

No, I couldn't think like that. I had sworn to protect her at any cost and that's what I'd do until I lost my last breath. But when we stopped at her cell and our eyes connected from the gloom, a shot of panic rippled from the base of my skull outwards in tiny, prickling waves. Bound as I was I couldn't do anything, but my subconscious lurch towards her didn't go unnoticed. The older Peacekeeper wound one hand in my hair and yanked, breath hot and fetid against my neck. "You don't get to go to your little girlfriend, slut," he whispered, face obscured as he stood on my right. "bet I could sort you out. All you need is a real man and some discipline, yeah? Something she could never give you." A vision of Kaya flashed in my head (she never loved you, only I can love you like you need) and my eyes narrowed, thickened with rage. I threw my head sideways and was satisfied with the crunch it produced, smelling the blood run and splatter in haphazard patterns all over the sterile tile. His grip in my hair grew painful as he jerked me down and I grunted through my gag, following to lessen the sting.

I knew I was just making it worse for myself, but my anger fueled my thoughts and desires. As we were yanked harshly down the different corridor (his muttered swears were music to my ears) I noticed the temperature spike, forming beads of sweat along my bronze skin. I swallowed nervously but refused to let them see the fear, tattooed as it was on the edge of my frayed sleeve. My fists balled to stop the careful trembling that threatened to unglue my bones, grasping onto the anger to cool my rising concern and harden my eyes into flint. They shoved us both in a small room but my muffled protests went unheard as Luna was herded into a different side door, out of my probing view.

The thing that drew my gaze was the large fire smouldering in the center of the room with little to contain it. I cast my eyes around the space but there seemed to be little in the way of flammable material - I didn't feel like burning alive if somehow the whole thing degenerated before anybody could halt it. The cuffs were cold around my wrists as a welcome respite to the sweltering heat and they yanked the chains high, unaccustomed to my imposing height. Broken Nose undid my gag and all the built up tension rolled off my tongue dripping with venom, staining my throat and straining my muscles. "You sick fuck, what the hell do you think this is going to accomplish? I've heard shit about you," I yanked against my binds and the metal rattled its protest. My frame shuddered but this trap had held many stronger than me. "and it's no fucking wonder they keep you locked away where nobody will be subjected to--" A violent blow to my already tender head and I stagger, vision clouding over as the cuffs dig into my wrists. The tang of metal is harsh in my mouth but I pull myself upright, catching a glimpse of raven hair from the strange window to my left.

Luna?

My teeth bare upon instinct and I try to straighten my spine, legs finding precarious balance despite the handles of whatever he's imagined beginning to grow warm under the flame. As long as she doesn't have to be subjected to this, I can take it. I have to. She's not strong enough for their shit, we've only begun to repair our relationship. I know it can withstand this, but can she?

Luna Whitestone
Buried my heart in a willow tree,
Then you came along and brought it back to me.
<><><><><><><><><><>

Maybe I see it coming and maybe I don't, but all I know is that the moment her scream pierces the air, my own joins it in a perfect descant of beautiful agony.

Their hands fly out to pull me back but it is too late- their palms hit only empty air and then slap against the chair forcefully moments after I scramble forward, fingers shrieking as the claw across the glass that they'll never be able to break. My lips part to call her name, one tortured syllable that is so hoarse and warped that it seems to have escaped from the throat of a beast rather than my own. The absolute torment in her eyes is so real it is almost tactile, and I slam my fist once against the window of horrors before the Keepers are yanking me back, forcing my fighting form back into the unforgiving chair. One of them grabs a fistful of onyx stands and yanks hard like a puppeteer might pull on the strings of his marionette. My neck fights automatically for a moment before my chin caves in and the back of my head slams against cold metal with a force that causes pinpricks of white to blink in and out of my vision. It is this and only this that makes the howl of distress that was fueling my own terror cut short, ending in an abrupt cry of pain before falling into stunned silence. But seeing her in pain ensures that I cannot be silenced for long.

"Stop it!" I shriek, feeling the delicate tissue of my throat strain as I reach pitches not meant for my voice. "Stop it, you're hurting her!" I attempt to surge forward again, but one more my head is forcefully snapped back, though this time my cries do not drop off into silence. Instead, they morph themselves into a dozen curses intended for the man who carries the burning source of her pain. In fact, while I'm at it, I throw in a few insults at the Keepers beside me. They only smile, amused by my reaction. In response, I force my head forward and snap my teeth dangerously close to one of their hands. Another pull, another series of blinking lights in my vision, but I cannot help feeling satisfaction at the way the smiles have dropped off their faces and the one who was in the danger zone pulls his arm back slightly.

But the look on her face, so torn and pained, drags me back down into despair. I remember in my worst fits of sorrow she was always there, fingers so adjusted to breaking somehow managing to heal the scars, though they could never truly erase them from my skin. Perhaps there were times when I was banished to loneliness, unreachable by all, but she still tried and that was all that really mattered in the end. She still has that sliver of my heart from the times when I desperately tried to repay her with my companionship, for as little as it was worth, and I know now that I can never ask her to return it to me. The day I left, my heart was screaming for her to just bury it away and forget about it all, but we'll never be able to rid ourselves of those memories. Pain twisted our friendship into something unbreakable (or perhaps unrepairable) so that it is connected to us always, chaining our hearts into our chests even when we wish for them to be gone and over. I know those bindings will remain firm and steady until the things they torture protect still, just from the experience of trying to rid myself of them once.

And now I see her in pain and I want to heal, to give back to her and fuel a once lost but never destroyed friendship. The threads connecting us to each other pull me forward but the Keepers hold me back, strong hands firmly pressing me into the hardness of the chair. Currently, it is only my weak limbs and hopeless state that prevent me from flying through that door to assist her. My weakness, a prison which keeps me tortured as I dangle by a single string above the void of insanity. I need to get to her, to reach her, and in my mind it is unacceptable that I can't, so I continue to struggle though I know that it causes the Keepers satisfaction and will only increase her alarm if she can hear my desperate screams.

I don't know where the tears came from, but once they start I find they will not stop, tumbling over one another as they streak down my cheeks. Isn't it funny that the only one who could possible comfort me right now is the very source of my pain, her own agony reflected in my eyes though I know that mine is minuscule in comparison to hers. The monster of a Keeper circles around Flight with his glowing weapon, ready to kindle his own twisted joys while burning through her otherwise impenetrable defenses. Through the sobs and the wails my mouth forms a word, little more than a whisper because it seems that vocalization of anything understandable is not a current strength of mine. I know he can't hear me and the word is pointless, but it escapes me anyway, hanging in the silence of the eye of the storm long after I have uttered it.

"Don't."

Luna Whitestone
Distant flickering,
Greener scenery.
This weather's bringing it all back again.
<><><><><><><><><><>

Perhaps I should have seen it coming. Perhaps I should have prepared myself. But my mind, muddled by distress and rage, didn't recognize the threat. I suppose I thought that I was safe from any sort of physical pain because all my torture was mental. And maybe, though I'd never admit it, I thought that in some way Flights pleas could protect me. I should have known, though, that these creatures dressed in snowy white are beyond nothing. They took her away from me once, and then that wasn't enough. Then they had to bring her here again, as if she hadn't seen enough torture. And this time, they are determined to break her beyond repair. Somehow, I thought that I could stop it. Though weak and defenseless against their cruel ways, I thought I could protect her as she so often protected me. I should have known that my armor is too thin, crumbling around me at even the slightest blow. There's nothing I can do to save her.

I can't even save myself.

A yelp quickly cut short escapes my lips when he grabs my arm and twists it behind me and up, up, up until my shoulder is stretched out of its socket and I can't feel my squirming fingers any longer. My jaw parts in a silent scream, eyes wide and shining with the agony as fuzzy blackness and then blinding white flicker across my vision. The joint stretches and contorts in attempt to fix the problem, but it only causes more pain and I clamp my mouth shut, cringing and tilting my head downward against the pain. I forget about Flight and my anger and everything because now there is only this new sensation of pain, swelling outward and up the tortured limb in a series of pinpricks and groaning aches as one my one my muscles admit defeat though they remained twisted taut in his grip.

The fingers of that same hand snatch my onyx locks and yank downward as if trying to uproot them. The strands stubbornly cling to my scalp though it causes agony from the place that took iron hits; my head jerks backward, chin jutted up toward a ceiling I can barely see through blurred pain, and then there is something hot and dangerous close to my throat. I suck in a breath and try to force myself away but his grip is firm and I remain as trapped as ever. His breath is hot against my ear though it cannot compare to the radiation of heat given off by the poker. "And we're going to have a lot of fun, now aren't we?" Vocal cords stretched far, I gurgle a response that sounds like a whimper.

And then the minuscule distance between that torture weapon and my throat closes and vocal cords or not, I'm screaming. Flesh hisses and sizzles and spits beneath glowing metal and skin becomes angry and red in an attempt to match, but the real thing is what happens inside. Nerves awaken to fire and screech almost as loud as I do as tendrils of fire shoot out from the burning point like some beautiful firework of agony, invisible to the eye but clear enough under the flesh for me to trace the pattern if I had a free hand. I've burned myself before, pulling a pot out of the oven. But only for a split second, and even then blisters bubbled up to the surface of my skin. This is something a thousand times worse before the burning refuses to go away- just when I think that it's over my flesh recognizes the heat again and fresh waves of fire erupt outward. And all agony is bathed in the warm, flickering light of the fire, roaring like a monster just begging to be released from it's eternal cage.

I remember when I used to think fire a cozy thing. Something that could thaw me out after winter nights spent hunting. And then there were the occasional bonfires at the base if we were feeling especially reckless and we didn't think the Keepers would notice the smoke. I loved those nights spent under the stars with the twirling flames to warm us- even Ari's sharpened features seemed to be smoothed by a light rich in gold and scarlet. Stories were whispered and traced out into the smoke so that our haunted tales were carried up to the heavens for the stars and the moon to listen to. Times like those made me believe in friendship, especially when I managed to convince Flight to accompany me. I know she didn't like being around all the other rebels, but with enough begging I could lure her near the dying embers when the light wasn't so harsh and all was quiet and peaceful.

But now fire is a creature, a raging beast that tries to consume me, to poison me from that one point. Eventually my scream quiets and the fire burns less, but something sticky and liquid still form tiny threads when he pulls it away. The release of my hair send my head gasping forward, though movements are cautious, for even the slightest crinkle in skin near the fresh wound sends more flames licking around my neck. My eyes follow Flight's voice and after the pain has cleared and my vision sharpened, I realize she has been repositioned with new chains. The pressure on my arm lessens, though never letting go, but in this moment of silence I force my eyes to meet hers and our silent agonies twist out into the air, hers stronger and greater and mine seeming small in comparison. I force myself to swallow the pain and swallow the fear because if she can stay strong for me than the least I can do is return the favor. Still, I can't help but try to stumble away when I see the glowing brand coming toward me. If Flight crumbled under its horrors, what will I do?

But it is the handle and not the glowing pain that meets my hand, and I stare at the Keeper in confusion. He grins and leans forward to whisper in my ear, his breath humid and sickly. "You're turn, Luna. Either you burn her or we burn you."

I stare at the glowing weapon in horror. My pain or hers. My hand begins to quiver and I turn back to face the other Keeper, pleading with my eyes. I know he is merciless but surely he must see some wrong in this. But there is no response and so I turn back to Flight, midnight eyes wide. I take one step toward her and then stop, the brand clanging as it hits the floor because my fingers are shaking to hard to hold it properly. I pick it up, very slowly, and then shake my head. "Please. Don't make me do this. I don't want to do this. Just... please. I- I can't..." my voice trails off and then I'm crying, tears silently tumbling down my cheeks. My fingers tighten around my brand but my arm refuses to move forward, though I try again and again. I force my throat open again, but the voice that it releases is still choked."I can't do this."

I swallow back all the things I wish to say and instead study her tear-stained face and the rapidly swelling flesh along her throat, shuffling towards my form with hesitant baby steps that reminds me so desperately of the time she was struck blind and helpless. Everything is so wrong about this situation that it bites down to the bottoms of my stained soul, mumbles that all of this could have been avoided if I had just been better. (To who, I don't know. Luna, keeping her safe within our District. Kaya, giving her a reason to stay within my arms as her brother wasted away. Desma, holding her close as she breathed her last shaking breath into my mouth. I have failed them all, and my scars will forever be a reminder of this.)

Together with my fear and exhaustion and anger, the chains above me rattle as she moves in closer, digging her heels back against his oppressive weight that is not to be denied. The expression on her face breaks me but I simply shake my head, firmly planting my feet on the ground almost as in acceptance of what is to come. When they are so close I can feel the simmering heat of the poker not yet touching my skin, I seem to melt into her; my head buries itself into the crook of her shoulder even as my back arches away from the weapon, arms jerking forward to hold her before I forget I've been rendered useless. We communicate through touch and sight and not some measly mundane thing like sound, so I rub my clenched eyes against her skin and let out a massive breath, still unused and unprepared and all those other things that mean not ready (and really, who is ready for this?) even as the metal jams into my skin and I howl.

It's instinct, really, to thrash in an attempt to get away, but I simply curl further into her comforting warmth despite it being her hands that harm, jaw working so hard it's sure Luna can feel the tendons popping through my skin. Before Mama left in a whirl of perfume she told me to stay strong, and I have tried my best throughout the years, doing what she wanted as if it would make her come back. After a while it stopped being a facade and integrated into who I was, who I am, and can't help feeling like I'm doing something wrong as I allow the pain splayed over my heart (fitting) to wash over me in an endless tidal wave. It knocks me straight from my own head and sends me reeling, burning the clothes between us and charring me a sticky black. I doubt I'll ever be rid of the taint that's being slathered onto my form in this disgusting room, the scent of his cologne overpowering Luna's own smell I had once almost forgotten. Breathing sears my skin but I refuse to cry, smashing my head deeper into her as I curl my whole body around her the best I can and wait until the metal takes its toll and lets the feeling morph into a singular throb of agony rather than sharp, staccato bursts.

I've never felt enough while she felt too much - it used to be the perfect compromise, but now it sees as if we've set our feelings to full and let other things overflow and override our systems. I can't make sense of up or down and my weight rests heavily on the chains shackling me to the ceiling even as I raise to press my chin, tucking away my mouth against her ear until my lips brush her lobe. "Don't give up," I say, and am horrified at how my voice sounds, thick and wet and nothing like my usual timbre, "as long as you're okay, I can play. I promise. Just do what he says." For some reason my body speaks otherwise but I've long known how to tune out others that don't agree with me, so instead I focus in on how her fingers and white and bruised under his hold.

I've never known how to say all the things to her that rebound in my head but remain trapped - I need you and don't go away and I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt - but the determination in my throat bleeds away all other thought, living and breathing for the sole ideal of getting through this so we can move onto something better.

District One is so corrupt I could make a living off the streets, but the budding gangs could always use a lieutenant and I am more than willing to give. I must take my beatings before I can be blessed and it seems like baptism by fire is the only option.

I was made to protect her just as she was made to heal me, so I dip down - everything screams but I fight through the sudden nausea - and open my jaws, finding his bony fingers with my teeth and clamping down hard. She is not to be trifled with and I will do all in my power to prevent that; if I'm dead by the day's sunset it will have been a necessary casualty. His blood is too rich on my tongue and I resist the sputter. It seems that his taint goes down to his very bones.

(The rook defends the queen, battered and bruised with cracks running down the surface but loyal to the end.)