The forgotten fires of old

Blood Curdling rage

"Within me is a rage I myself cannot understand" Tia confessed kneeling at the altar of fire. Her silken face was framed by burnished auburn curls. They spiraled clear beyond the curl of her pert ass. 

The alter steps themselves were made of marble and various hard jeweled. Encrusted with a legacy of pain and diligent work the altar shown bright over miles, over the hundreds of miles like a beacon to the stars. Its seven foot wide platform was only outdone by the splendid image of a flaxen haired woman clothed in fire. The woman held in her left arm a babe close to her breast. In the left a sword dangled from war hardened fingertips.

Wordless lips said nothing, the statue remained as it was. Beside the statue on both the left and right rounded bowls of fire drifted to and fro dancing. They picked up a wind that did not exist. The altar itself seemed to come to life, dispensing justice in the sweetest form. Fire became liquid melting its way out of those sacred bowls.

It swirled down the steps in frames of blue and gold, curling in bright bubbles to the unaffected marble. This stone had been blessed and seen much. Once the flame touched the girl images drifted through her mind, of pain, of loss, of the creation of races. Mothers anger became her own and though she seemed statuesque the woman screamed in pain, howled with it. This tore from her lips as an outcry across the lands. 

Wolves cried in response and through the land a keening sensation whirled. It was as if the life she once knew was drifting around her. Pain crept from that altar and into that woman, pain, need, fire and love. Her body, this fragile form could only take so much. The fire lanced across her left breast burrowing into her heart. It left her scarred. 

Upon the body did the mother leave a marking. Slowly by fire formed dual dragons upon her body.  They curved and swirled, moved and chimed with eachother playing over the womans fragile frame. Strength and wisedom they were called. Both were weapons of war and this was mothers sacrifice. 

The fire creeped onward over porcelien skin. It tainted the ivory to a light gold. This aided the woman with a humanistic featuring. Clearly she was meant to travel within the world of men. Upward to her left eye did the fire begin creeping. Like a lovers touch it began soothing the burns left upon its own kind, whispering of pleasure, of joy and even of love. 

Upon the eye a tribal tatoo found purchase. Rather beside the outer edge of the right eye. Mothers kiss left a harsh stain as the fire ebbed. It recoiled back into the casting bowls. The woman however upon the floor was left with tears slipping down her cheeks. She wept, she screamed and writhed at the torment anew in her human body.

As a phoenix TIa KNEW better than to question mother. When the flames sputtered she inched the way back to her knees and melted her body prostrate upon the altar. "You are the forgotten. Man has not touched you. Once young one I called you VIper." mother spoke though only the lips of the statue moved. "Now i call you Tiassale. I call you the forgotten. I will remember you when men fail. I will remember you when no one wants you. It is to my bossom you are clasped oh shameless one" mother touched her heart with those words. 

Grateful tears fell, and then all went dark. Mothers altar faded leaving the girl shrouded by the trees of her homeland. Vengence would be paid upon the world again, and in the form of an iron bitch. 

The beast was back.