Dreams of Fire

[Thalia]

He was moving, and that terrible instinct burned so terribly bright she felt as though every inch of her skin must be glowing. She didn't know what it would do, to him or to her. The memories, of before, were dim things; even now, released unexpectedly from their chains, they cowered in the shadows cast beneath that terrifying radiance of power, barely brushing her conciousness except to refortify the intensity of her fear. One, terrified blink. When she opened her eyes, it was as though someone had taken up a marker pen and scribbled ferociously in the air an arm span's length from her face. The cross-hatch grew thick, gleaming gold, so bright and tangible she almost loosened her grip on Katya's hand to touch it. But the anomaly faded, taking her brief respite with it. When her vision cleared, the man was still there. But he had not come any closer.

He was talking to her. It took a second for that realisation to seep into her brain, and once it did fear spiralled loose once again. She stared, not afraid of what he might do, but of who he was: of the simple fact that he was flesh and blood and consciousness, that he breathed and spoke and lived autonomous. And worst, that he seemed to think he knew who she was. Just the thought, punctured through with other, older memories - demon! A woman's phlegmy spit on her shoe - was enough to make her feel sick, but she couldn't tear her gaze away. The familiar lines of his face had been etched behind her eyes for months, spilling out onto sheets and sheets of sketchbook paper. She barely had to look to know the shape and colour of his eyes, the contours of his lips, the angle of his cheekbones, but look she did, desperately searching for discrepancies.

"I don't know who you are." The words were small, fragile things, and she laid them out honest, forlornly imploring him to admit he had made a mistake. Her name was not Nimeda. Why did he even think it was? You remember me, right? A stream of curiosity bubbled to the surface, but it was short lived, and it died from her guileless expression quickly. No. She didn't want to know, she didn't want to know, she didn't want to know. Her wide-eyed gaze finally broke to find Dane; strangely, it took a second, like she had forgotten how he'd ended up almost the other end of the carriage. Savagery twisted his reserved poise, and veins chorded sharp against his skull. The anger pulled his skin tight, like something clawed to get out.

It occured to her Dane must know him. He'd called him Jon.

What had happened? It was a good question, but Thalia was content to drown in the waters of oblivion, and her mind had already begun its self-protective retreat. The air felt heavier when the light slipped away as swiftly as it had descended, and when the colours pressed a little dimmer she finally closed her eyes. Beside her Katya was hot as a furnace. Where she clutched the girl's hand her palm was warm and clammy. "My friend is Sick."

A hum vibrated through the train. The lights flickered back on a section at a time, and then the engine began to rattle to life. A deep, heavily Russian voice crackled over the intercom, but it was muffled and distorted. They began to move again.

[[There is a wall of Air in front of Thalia. She and Kat are sitting close enough that it would prevent anyone from physically approaching either of them.]]