She was born from a pool of molten black and steaming grisly smoke. Bright red-orange magma dripping down her coal-black skin lit from beneath by splinters of boiling blood. And when she opened her eyes, all that lay within were deep pools of scorching light.
She awoke with a manic grin splitting her sharp features, and when she opened her mouth smoke billowed from between her stalagmite teeth. The first sound she uttered was a manic laugh that sent shockwaves of the sound that made mountains quake and the ground crack. And when she finally clawed her way out to the surface, all creatures turned away in fear and fled.
(And she is the most beautiful being I have ever met.)
She is a being born of hellish heat and scalding rivers of destruction. With boiling blood and flesh carved from obsidian pocketed with cracks of flowing lava. And when she walked the earth she left scorched footprints. She is a master of ores, metals, stone, and heat. She is crafter, a blacksmith who is her own personal forge. With materials clasped between her palms she can make anything she desires.
She is the most violent of our kind, god-like elementals who have crafted life on so many planets in so many systems. She craves destruction, wants nothing less than to feel metal, stone, flesh, and bone give under her clawed hands. She breaks down her chosen materials, melts them down and remakes them into tools she can use to break even more raw materials. She makes weapons and brings forth horrible disasters, manipulating nature itself to rend apart the path she chooses to walk.
She wants to break, break, break. To tear through anyone who stands in her way with her claws, her teeth, her weapons, her fire.
(At least that is what she tells everyone. What she really wants, she doesn’t believe anyone will understand or take as truth.)
(But I do.)
She does crave destruction, to break things beneath her hands and remake them in her vision. She does find endless joy in the heat that would kill anyone else, and she does love to fight — but she does so with the intent of finding someone who will push back. Something that will stand tall against her onslaught.
She is chaotic and excitable, and that will always be true, but how she chooses to manipulate her own chaos, her will — that is where I find her true beauty.
She wants someone or something not to give under her power. She wants force for force, wants someone to claw through her heat, tear down her weapons, and hold her without fear. She wants to push and be pushed back, to give back everything she gives away.
She desires a challenge above all else. She wants someone to challenge her without forcing her to change who she is.
(And lucky for her, I am more than willing to be that person.)
Her attention is a cruel intensity, and her love is even worse, but she cannot temper herself any more than she already has. A fire cannot help but burn after all. A blade cannot help the fact that it’s edges cut.
And like those facts of life, she cannot be any less than a force of nature constantly tearing at the space around her. She leaves a blazing trail in of destruction in her wake, but no one else pays attention to the places and people she avoids. She says she breaks everything in her grasp, so she avoids harm to anything that does not deserve her chaos.
(I would not have her any other way. As much as she would not have me change. I am very much like her, underneath this carefully crafted mask. I had felt as she does once, before my own fire was tempered. I will do what I have to to ensure she does not suffer the same fate.)
You are kind and fair, my friends say. A calm river and a gentle but firm stone beneath our feet. Those pitiful mortals tell me. And sometimes I want to break like her.
(Oh, if they knew just how terrible I could be. That I have the capacity to be even worse that my love. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to break my façade, to tear my ravaged soul free and ravage them instead. Rain my hellish storms down on the mortals shoulders, take them in my hands and see how they like being remade.)
But then my favored chaos comes in a wave of unforgettable heat. A vicious laugh dripping from her lips like magma. She will grin at me, teeth still sharp, claws and armor still in full unapologetic view. Burning just as bright and hot as she did the day she came into this universe. Her chaos will not be tempered, unless she wills it. But that does not mean she is incapable of tempering others.
She holds me, lets me push back and hurt her — but only when she wants it too. I can only break her physical form where she lets me break it. She keeps many of the marks I leave, even though we both know she could remake herself whole again with ease. She holds me close in the aftermath, soft and warm and all the things everyone says she doesn’t have the capacity for. She reminds me of the kind and harsh things I already know. The rules I must follow.
“You can’t break the world like me. You can’t hurt the mortals. Or you will break yourself.” She whispers, her breath tainted with the scent of smoke and ash. “But I don’t mind a few dents and scratches. Tear me down if you must. I can be rebuilt — but your mind and reputation cannot.” And I taste her smile as I kiss the rest of her undesired mock lecture.
(And I do. I tear into her, scream and whisper to her. We break ourselves on our edges, burn and freeze under our natural powers. And it is as wonderful as it is terrible. But –)
But in that aftermath, held in her ever-present heat, my mind tingling with relief and regret, I wonder. And with our hands clasped, knuckles white, her orange glowing eyes the only light between us, I ask:
“How do you know I won’t shatter you?”
And she laughs, throwing me a predatory smile. She answers;
“Because you only ever tear away the pieces I don’t want or need anymore.”