Fire on Fire: A Koralie Story

Chapter One: Oralie

GUYS I DID IT OMG. First Koralie fic chapter! I love them so much. They're so good for my soul. My writing style is kind of a mess rn and these chapters are going to be so much shorter than my SSWH chapters but that should mean I have more updates more often! Have fun <3

Oralie

Oralie knocked once and strolled in before Bronte could reach the door. She shoved aside the simple gray pillows on his couch and dropped face-down on top.

"Oralie?" Bronte sounded startled, but his usual annoyance was not absent from his voice.

She rolled over until she was facing the ceiling.

Bronte leaned over the couch, blocking her view, and he tilted his head. "Tea?"

She felt she might throw up if she consumed anything, but maybe something warm would soothe her trembling heart.

A few moments, or seconds, or hours later, Bronte sat calmly on the couch across from her, pouring tea into two delicate white cups in the center of the coffee table. It was the set she and Kenric had gifted to him. It'd started as a joke, but Bronte (though he'd never say it) loved it so much, he used it every day.

Something rose in her throat at the thought of Kenric, and the memories they shared laughing on Bronte's couch, holding those teacups, as Bronte scowled at them, grumbling something about third-wheeling and foolish children.

It took everything out of her to sit up. She stared at the cups, twin puffs of steam curling off the top. There should've been a third.

Bronte merely sipped his tea in silence. She looked over at where he'd been working in the open kitchen space, papers scattered across the granite counter, but he made no effort to return, and didn't grumble about her interruption. Nor did he ask impatiently what was going on. He barely even looked at her, like this had been his plan the whole afternoon.

She wrapped her hands around her cup, feeling it burn her fingers. "Have you ever wondered," she whispered to her tea, "that everything we've done as Councillors has been for nothing?"

"We serve the Lost Cities," Bronte replied. "We do our best for the good of the world."

It was a common answer, monotonous and overused, and she hated it. But he knew that.

"No. We make the worst decision between two wrong choices. There's never been a right answer, and by the time we realize that, it's too late." Over, and over, and over again. When will they ever learn from their mistakes? "I thought by becoming a Councillor, I could help, but it's all — nothing is —"

"Wait," he said, a faint crease between his brows. "Where is this coming from?"

Oralie leaned back against the couch, staring up at the chandelier. The architecture of each Councillor's tower was the same. Kenric had that chandelier. He always chose a different color to shine through each day. Too often, it was pink — when she'd asked once why, he'd winked and said it was his favorite color.

Beautiful and strong and brave. And then he'd leaned in and whispered, How could my poor heart resist?

Oralie had blushed, foolishly. But she didn't feel strong now without him here.

"I can't stop thinking about him," she said, but it came out choked, barely a breath.

"Oh," Bronte said softly, something that might've been sympathy in his voice. He rounded the coffee table and sat next to her instead, his presence beside her warm and strangely comforting, though he was terrible at comforting people — she knew this for a fact. She also knew that when she was grieving, Bronte was the only one who didn't try so hard to help, and yet he was the one who helped the most. It was the little things he did. The tea he offered.