In another universe, he is standing by her side. No, she is standing by his side, and he is sitting on a lofty throne with a crown upon his head. She worships him, he worships her, and together, they are worshipped by the kingdom they created. There are no witches, no mind-readers, no visions, no insidious voices in heads. There is only love. No, not love. Love is weak. Instead, there is only power. Power in his hands.
But this is no alternate universe. This is reality. This is life.
It starts like a lullaby, a gentle chill that floats in a winter wood, a meeting of whispers, of bare feet that kiss the snowy ground beneath. But nothing is ever as it seems.
The fire roars, and Thorn can do nothing but stare at it in horror. He holds his hand up, limp and weak, and the fire is approaching. It burns whatever is in its path. It burns whoever is in its path, and Thorn is in its path.
“Control,” Briar whispers behind him. He shivers, despite the heat that licks his body. “You are not against the fire. You are the fire. Breathe it in. Close your eyes. Let the fire consume you, and become one with the flame.”
The fire is consuming him, but it is not fueling his power; it is draining his power. He closes his eyes, powerless.
As the flames begin to singe his hair, he hears Briar sigh. He feels the flames retreat and the soothing cool replace it. He opens his eyes, meeting the icy blue stare of the Queen. He shivers, despite the sweat that drips down his face.
“Control, Thorn,” she reminds him. “Again.” The flames build higher at the end of the hallway, and they race towards him again. He does nothing, not even raises his arm against the fire. He simply stands against it. “Control it!” Briar demands.
He turns his back on the flames. “If I cannot control the fire, then I will stand against it.”
“You will control it. You will learn.” A command, not a placation.
“You cannot command what is impossible.”
She laughs. “I can do what no man or woman can. I have power no man or woman has. And you say I cannot command what is impossible? You are more foolish than I thought you capable.”
“I have this power, same as you.”
"But it is weak. You are weak, Thorn, but you will learn. And when you are strong, we will rule together with this power, and every man, woman, and child in this kingdom, no, this world, will come to worship us. Our names will strike fear in their hearts, and they will learn the true meaning of power. They will bow before it. They will bow before us.” She approaches him, seducing him with her eyes and her hips and her words. “We will not merely possess power. We will be the power. Don’t you want that, Thorn? Don’t you crave it as I do? You and me in a world that we control?”
 He closes his eyes. Putty in her hands. Power in her hands. He is held captive by her ever-growing web of promises. “My Queen,” he groans.
"Yes. I am your Queen, and you will be my King.” She lays a hand on his cheek. “My King, look at me.”
The Queen commands; the King obeys. He looks at her. Deep brown eyes meet sparkling blue.
It starts like a lullaby, but nothing is ever as it seems.
“I will kill you myself.”
A shiver, a glint of red, a soft reply. “I don’t believe that.”
“Fine.” Live, die, breathe, try. “Then I’ll take what you love.”
A rant, a gust, a demand. “Do you believe me?”
A murmur, a breeze, a bend. “Yes.”
A blade, unraveling rope, fire racing through the hallway.
“Then run, little lover, and pray I don’t catch you.”
A blinding supernova: stars born, stars destroyed, lines drawn, constellations made and remade, a fire that billows through the sky.”
It is a horrible, crimson flame. It is a horrible, crimson night.
“This is what you made me.”
The connection breaks. He falls to his knees before his queen. There is silence. She is reveling in her power. Her power over him.
“Being in your mind,” she begins, kneeling gracefully before him. “It’s breathtaking.” Their lips meet. “It’s beautiful.”
He pulls away. “Beautiful? But the fire, the sky– “
But nothing. She is leaning in for the kiss, for the kill. Putty in her hands. She presses him back, reigning over him, stealing his breath, his words, with fiery kisses, brushing her lips against the places that make him melt, stealing his rage, his insolence, his insecurity. She grasps so expertly his every need, at his pulse, his ache that collides so desperately with her own, hurling himself into the feel of her hands and the throb of her kiss.
Fire licks at his mind again, floods his thoughts. He shoves the flames aside.
Let them come, he thinks, tangling his hands in Briar’s hair. For you, I’ll burn.
But her kisses and her lips, and her possessive growl do not drown out the voice awoken in him, and he hears the voiceless murmur, a swiftly dying breeze.
I will make a ruin of you, it whispers, and he blinks back the image of Briar’s crown.
Then ruin me, and to the ground I will burn.
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