FRITILLARY ━ tam song

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 - ball and chain

"My lady —"

"Quiet, Subordinate."

"Ma'am —"

"I said quiet!"

You winced slightly, the voices cutting into your consciousness like sharp knives, and the second you realized that, your body stirred in fear.

Fear.

Fear?

Ugh.

"Ah, look what you've done. She's awake, it seems." A trill of laughter reverberated through the clearing you woke in.

Speaking of which...where exactly were you?

You grimaced in pain when you finally completely came too, and it wasn't a fun experience. Your head was throbbing even more than before, the cut on your hand seemed to have been deepened, blood was trickling down your face from your nose, and your entire body ached.

And your wrists and ankles had been roughly tied to a tree with scratchy rope, but that wasn't what bothered you.

The entire lower half of your body seemed to be immobilized, and you could just barely move your arms, along with a huge metal ball around your ankles. A thick piece of cloth was tied around your mouth, just loose enough as to let you breath. Whatever was happening, it was definitely planned and not done in the spur of the moment.

And it was against your favor.

"Open your eyes, my darling," a disturbingly dark voice whispered, tilting your chin up as you opened your eyes slowly to see a pair of azure eyes and a cold smirk on maroon lips.

You bit back a whimper when you saw where you were.

The trees around you were charred, the ground wasn't producing grass, and there was a rather noticeable stain of metal on the ground next to you.

This was where it started.

This was the first of the destruction you caused in your years at Exillium. This was where the original Arch of Division stood.

This was where you started your first fire.

There were many things you found out about yourself when you stepped inside the grounds of the banished school, and sure, there were some good ones, such as your talent with wood and your leading abilities, but...

Arson.

That, perhaps, was what caused you to be more controlling over your actions. It was something no one spoke of anymore. It was something no one — except a select few, of course — knew about, and you preferred it stay that way.

The coaches might not have been so terrified of you if they didn't witness you in all your power about a month after you first butted in, and that would be problematic, but still would be better than the memories you created.

The heat, the screams, the smell of smoke, the taste of ashes, the sight of a hurricane of fire tearing through the trees above...

And amidst it all, you. The proclaimed Fritillary, towering over frightened elves with burning red eyes, standing on a pillar of pyrite. You were still immune to emotion back then, but the slight curve of your lips in a subtle smirk seemed to terrify everyone into submission.

That was the last you remembered before you completely went insane. That portion of your memories was better off buried away.

You killed that day. The fire not only stopped this spot in Wildwood of flourishing, it also killed the majority of the Waywards that were there back then.