you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared

That anger she had at the stranger in the bar had been dutifully snuffed out. She had returned home that evening and let loose on that rage, worked herself until she was limp with exhaustion. Not even the thought of Ivan could get her riled up when she finally retired to her bedroom. She truly wanted to destroy the man at the bar; he hadn't done anything to her, not really. Perhaps given her a longer stare than necessarily, she had been rearing for a fight and she got one. It didn't make her feel better. She had refused to tell Dorian about it, certain he would scold her for allowing that anger to get the better of her.

Sighing deeply, she glances down at her hand, resting on the table. Her knuckles were entirely healed from when she punched the stranger, though the resounding smack still lingered in her ears. Even the memory of her controlled fireball brought her no pleasure when it really should have. It was perhaps, the first time she managed to hurl her fire across the burn and not set something on fire. Perhaps it was because she didn't want to damage the man permanently, the life of an innocent trumped her fear of wielding that flame.

Pushing away the memory, she could feel that constant swirling eddy of rage in the pit of her stomach, snuffed out. Hand grasping the mug, she peers down into the lukewarm coffee, watching her reflection in it. Swirling the black liquid, she brings it to her lips and takes a sip, cringing at the taste of cold coffee. Setting it back down on the table, she glances up, her blue eyes traveling around the coffee shop. There were few here at this time of day, considering it was lunch time. She had only just rolled out of bed an hour ago, her head pounding with a headache due to the amount of alcohol she consumed the night before.

She needed to slow down. It wasn't healthy and still it did not stop her. It was her one release in the world, she used it like a crutch and she knew better. Raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, she inhales deeply before standing and bussing her table. Exiting the quiet shop, she heads to the crosswalk, halting at the stop light just as a gust of wind slams into her side. Grumbling darkly to herself, she buries her nose into that red scarf, hands jamming into the pockets of her leather jacket. Her unbound hair, stark white against that black coat, swirls wildly about her head, but she makes no move to tame those tendrils.

Moving from foot to foot, even the cold wind rips through those black knee-high boots, which so concealed a dagger in either of them. Her pants are stretched tight around her toned legs, the only part of her body that screamed she was something more. That she wasn't just your average girl. Yet, standing in simple clothing, her assassin suit put away for the meantime, she looked nothing more than an average woman, warding off the cold.

Vhalla Solarn

To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered