Her eye appraised the grotesque view one more time, while her mind overloaded itself with intrusive thoughts and assumptions. But the latter was slowly turning into a reality the deeper she looked into it. Just a few hours ago a child called her a 'hero', in tune with the thoughts of her family.
Of course, what child wouldn't when some 'knight' drops in to cut down the bad guys picking on them for gold and food. Not the first family to be assaulted on the roads, and certainly not the last: The unholy sight of Finweald's existence is testament enough of what will become of once good men and women. Bodies, refugees or bandits.
Some eyes made it clear she was no hero. She didn't want to be feared for actions that she didn't support, from people she didn't support, and certainly who didn't support her either or the same Landers who understandably keep their suspicions about a Traveler simply 'wishing to help'.
One eye and one hollow socket watched from afar at a vantage point, legs hanging down as she sat at a peak. The "knight" role stored back into her inventory, where all armor items were kept.
You know what to do.
"And you know I couldn't care less what you want." Her eye shot awake, gazing deep into the orange that coated the skies, counting the hours she's spent sitting here already. Three? Four? Just how much her attention span had degraded. She's now talking with ghosts...
Yet you've done everything I've said in spite of that.
The truth that stung like wasps. Fiora couldn't hide her frown-- She didn't want to. "I didn't kill Szofrit now did I? I did my job, I carried Ronja out of that hellhole. I brought her back." Her reply carried contempt, but left ambiguous as to who it was directed to, something that the Raging Flame themselves knew already.
Of course, she's one of them, how could they not?
You wanted others to kill her and they failed. Just like you failed in saving her.
Fiora stood back up to her feet at that line, turning on her heel to face down her mother. Or rather, the visage of her. The elf knew well enough it wasn't her, and yet the rage that pent up in her bossom wasn't any different. If only, it got worse inside the game.
"I said I would save Ronja. Killing her wasn't my priority, it was yours. Should have gone and done it yourself." The distance gap died off just a little more between them, ticked by this apparent know-it-all mastermind calm that the flame armed herself with.
Silence, followed by broken eyecontact and a hand gesturing over to Finweald.
They fear The Magia now. They fear the power your lot has. What do you think it will be of the one you care for, who is both?
They didn't need to elaborate, Fiora understood it clearly at first try given her lack of verbal aggression.
Her heart bleeds with guilt, and she is ready to do everything you don't want her to in order to settle her debt with this world. You wished to save her from a threat, I offered you the power to do so in exchange of nothing: The death of Szofrit would have been of benefit moreso to you than us. You decided to go against our wishes, now look at the results.
"So you come over just to talk me to death? Is that your plan?" Yet it was the truth, wasn't it..?
She didn't wish to assume, but everything pointed it out. They had a hand on this turn of events, but why for? Ari and Val should know better than to let that thing alive-
No, they probably were stopped... So she wanted to believe. The Flame couldn't be trusted over her friends's words. It couldn't be trusted in general.
But it put her own heart at odds, split between two ideas she didn't want to find the end of.
No. I just wanted to let you know how proud we are of you.
A flame bursted in her eye after the bear took more pokes than she was willing to endure. And so it did within her skull, the fiery dot at iris-level gave the illusion of an eye within an eye, or in her left socket's case, an eye built by hate as it's power source.
The Raging Flame smiled, their gaze tracing over the now pink locks of hair that washed Fiora's murderous gaze.
It's a start, but it's commendable to see you strip yourself away from your fiction. You are not Fiora, you are Nico. This is who she loves. Do your best for her, and maybe you can save her next time.
The ethereal lady disappeared with a gust of wind. There wouldn't be an answer for her, the words had choked on Nico's throat for sometime now, and with her departure, the pinkette dropped down to her knees. Her emotional overtune had to be failing for tears to be dropping from her eyes. In the end, the pain of awareness was way more than she could bear. The weigh of her failure broke her shoulders with it's weigh alone, she craved for the physical torment by now. At least then, she would have a new wound to lose track of the old one.