Learning Lana--Hank and Frank pt2

'never forget, for every demon we lost an angel'


Lana

The 'virgin' sister of Nymeah.

The flower of the Court.

I ate her spit and she fell in love.

Sometimes that's all it takes.

Sometimes that's all they want.

I remember how white she was inside.

I remember the light she gave,

and the way she made me cry.

She would sit in the dark with me,

those first few times.




'That's boring.'

'Use your imagination.'

'I want you to tell me something about you,

a real story.

When you were a boy,

you know something real,

with your family.

Something that will make me smile.'

She knew the rules.

Knew the spells to cast.

Knew that I couldn't say no.

Knew what I was,

a monster inside.

Broke my heart.

A piece of it.

I told her,

as I do,

and wrapped it in magic.

I gave her the gift of truth .

a piece of myself.

Something real.

Something true.

The lesson she needed,

before she got it.

'Every child plays with fire at some point,
but no all of them have scars.'



'I don't recall much of my mother, only that she loved me. Her face, her eyes, her voice changes each time I try to remember. I remember her candles. Her magic, simple as it was.

'No Grand Wizards or Archmages. No Godmothers nothing special about my blood, not like yours. So old, a lineage to take pride in. I come from a house of shame, where people came to purge themselves of mistake or were willing to sacrifice for fortune.

'Those who came to her came out of desperation and sin. They gave her their tears and a story, she gave them their cures and took their worry.

'She was good, and soft, and loving.

'And weak.

'My father was only a beast, a savage thing. He possessed her with power that I could not even fathom as the boy that I was compared to the animal that fed us, and protected, and hurt.

'Even though I don't remember the voice, or the face, or even if she stroked my hair or if I made that up a long time ago, I remember the things she would say to me.

'That a fire burned deep. Things would burn. How afraid she was, but how I shouldn't be.

'I don't think I ever really was afraid, not of myself, but of the things that I would do to her. The things that made her cry.

'I don't try to make myself sound righteous. The truth is I have always wanted to become what I am now. It's always been there. I've always done the things I've wanted, always tasted the things I've wanted to taste.

'And I've always wanted to taste the world, even as it burns, or the ash that's left.

'When I practiced I focused on candles and fire, I swore to her that I made the flame dance. That I made logs snap beneath cinders, sparks fly.

'She would laugh and smile, and kiss me on my head.

'Kiss me on my head.

She did.

'An angel just as sweet as you, she was.

'Once, She was outside talking to a woman with a child sick with the black rot. It's so foggy now, I don't even know if I'm lying now, or speaking the truth, but I saw something then, in the fire, when I tried to make it jump. All red and angry. It grinned at me as it climbed out of the stove.

'It cackled and danced; it ran all around me, licking at tables and carpets and anything that would burn. It wandered in circles and waved its arms all about me. Its tongue yellow and orange as it licked at my clothes, but never let me burn.

'The scream of my mother broke it from its spell and it dove back into the stove where it came, hiding back with the glowing logs. It leered at me, like I leer at you. Just like this.

She leered back at me.

'Ah, just like that.

'My mother scolded me and screamed. She never screamed at me before, not that I remember.

'She didn't yell as much after I told her about the little dancing man. The man made of fire. The one who made his faces.

'I told her he did it and I showed her where he grinned at me, and her magic was weak. She couldn't see him in there. She couldn't see him laughing at the things he did, but I could. I could see him. It's not foggy at all.

'He was there lighting the path for me.

"She cried after that. She cried and held me, fingers in my hair.

'I told her that I would keep her safe from the little man, that his fire wouldn't touch her.

'She had given me something, before he came home, to put me to sleep.

'I tucked it under my tongue, even as little as I was, knowing that he could kill her.

'When the beast came home, it was a rage. It raged as the fire had. This time though, my mother's cry was not enough to end the burning. It only made the flames more furious.

'She told him she had tipped a candle, it rolled on the floor.

'I had never seen anyone get hit as hard before that day.

'He had always been so gentle before, I could see that then. How much he must have loved her to hurt her so softly every other time

'She wept bleeding and he kept hitting her. In the arms. The shoulders. The back. The belly. It didn't matter, he just hurt her.

'From the blankets she had wrapped me in, pressing me to sleep, I came.

'I yelled and he stopped. She cried and bled. He trembled and stared.

'I told him that it wasn't her at all.

'It was the man on fire.

'The man that ran and meant to make mayhem.

'I told him that he did it on purpose.

'To do this and make him mad.

'That she was innocent, and so was I.

'That it was the fire to be blamed.

'She cried so hard and didn't even make sense out of her words. He hit her again and she went to sleep.

'He brought me a candle and told me that I would have to prove to him the fire man was real, or pay for my lies.

'I don't really recall when it started hurting, or when it stopped. Only the way the wax and skin began to burn together. He held my arm steady when the fire ate me, ate at me. I could see him in there. Grinning and laughing. Hissing. And sizzling.

'Have you ever smelled flesh burn? It's different when it's your own.

'I cried and told him that I burned it all, that it was me. That I had made him dance. That the fire was mine. I think I had told him that already, somewhere when it first started to hurt, but I don't really remember.

'My mother in the morning painted my fingers, she weaved her magic soft and light and mended my hand by giving a piece of herself.

'That was her, always giving, always sacrificing for me.

'She was the first person to really love me, the first person I really loved.'

We wrapped ourselves in each other then. Eventually she crawled to the end of the bed and whispered in the dark. Told a Dark man it was late. Told him she was fine. They would talk later. And that she loved him too. I don't know if she lied to him then, but it didn't matter. She could love us both.

But, she could love Nymeah and me.

She knew that and she was free on my path. I saw her for what she was. Who she really was, but I could see fear in her. Fear for where she was, fear for where she was going, fear for what she was.

A fear that would break her, forever.

She looked at me, her own dancing fire man, grinning.