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I may be ice: of such frigidity that frost is my aptest crown—flaunted testament to the frailties of my flesh—at aphelion of the warmth that has ever tantalised but never thawed me. Yet I’m also summer: the mesmerising menace masked by mirth, bearer of delectation to the disciples basking in my luminescence, although I’m damned myself to the dark and despair that only a half–denizen of the Void can know.
He may be fire: of such fervour that he’s subjugated to the furious tempest raging within, mercilessly as surf ravages scar, scalding to the touch at zenith of his zeal, demanding immolation on a protean pyre—for whom does he burn tonight? Yet he’s also winter: winsome woe, scourge to the sublime and dread of the decadent, although all he craves in these worlds is return to the halcyon he’s due.
We are both creatures of contradictions. It’s why we understand one another. But it’s not lost on me that ice and fire cannot mingle, that summer and winter never meet anywhere but the Ice. We tried for temperance.
We failed.
_What if Cassius and Darrow were lovers? A reimagining of Red Rising, told from Cassius’ perspective.
Series
- Part 1 of Alis Aquilae
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Bookmark Notes:
Ch 9