Blue Velvet

Under the cover of the stars, as the moon casts its gentle light on the earth, the Albastra tree blooms. Its velvet petals dance in the cool northern breeze, glimmering pale blue in the night. When dawn comes, the morning sun a gift to all but the Albastra, the blossoms will break free of their branches and scatter into the world, gliding among the winds, out to sea.

Tonight, though, near invisible in the midnight shadows, Lucia sits nearby. Watching. The rock she’s perched on is not far from the tree, dug deep into the sand, rising out from the breaking tides of the Northern Sea. She sits there, swaying back and forth, allowing the sticky beach air to drag her hair across her face. Her necklace is glowing against her dark shirt, the moonlight bouncing off its intricate pattern and the peaks of the waves alike.

She tilts her head to the side as her eyes glaze over, staring off at a point far behind the Albastra. To the village that lies beyond - the leftover plumes of smoke from the day's cooking, the quiet, drifting sounds of laughter and chatter as the townsfolk settle for the night. Lucia feels a wave of sorrow, as deep and blue as the ocean behind her, that makes her throat ache, her eyes burn, and the fingers she’d wrapped around her knees turn white.

She lets her sobs rip through her throat, and watches as her tears crash onto her black leather pants like the waves crashing around her. Beads of frothy water that are flying through the air find her face, her body. Her pants, destroyed by the salt, already feel taught against her legs, against the bend in her knees. Any other day, she would have cared.

God, is she tired. For two days she’s been traveling along the coast, stopping only for food. She would mingle briefly with the townspeople, who Lucia would talk to about their traditions, their beliefs. They were all a bit different, but had one thing in common: a hatred for the king from long ago, now only a myth made of power and flame. She was envious of their community, the closeness they all shared. She’d had to continue on her path knowing the only thing keeping her company are the mosquitoes.

Although she would leave each stop with a full belly and heavy eyes, she did not allow herself to sleep. She did not want to sleep. She wanted, needed, to get to the part of the coast where the stone cliffs meet the soft sand, to the Albastra. And she needed to do it as fast as she could. She had to stay awake, because to sleep would add time to her journey. Plus, it would put her there mid-day. But most importantly, to sleep would mean seeing Sam.

She’s tried to avoid thinking about Sam, tucked him away into a small, airtight box in her mind. But the fog of exhaustion is destroying the box in the same way the water is destroying her clothes. She’d promised him - no matter what, the tree will live. No matter what, the relic of a world once full of magic would live on; a relic of the life she once had. But Sam’s not here. And if she starts to think about him, she won’t be able to do this.

Lucia’s face is getting hot, her cheeks turning what she hopes to be a flattering shade of red. She’s getting jittery, her intertwined fingers pulling and twisting. There’s heat coursing through her that not even the crisp droplets of the Northern Sea can soothe: guilt.

It’s settling in her bones. It’s been living there for a while now, alongside that other thing that she’s not supposed to talk about. Something that she would be ostracized for, probably even killed for. And as she slowly shifts her gaze to the Albastra tree, her tears making the velvet blue petals shine brighter than the stars above, she’s not seeing through her eyes. Lucia is seeing the only living Albastra tree through the eyes of a man who lived long ago, someone who had this same thing living in him.

Closing her eyes against the breeze, Lucia takes a deep breath; she feels her heart, a bit sluggish and off beat, and she doesn’t exhale until she’s sure she’s repaired the box. Until she’s sure she’s locked him back inside. She slowly opens her eyes, and looks once again at the tree.

No trace of Sam.

Feeling more anchored in herself, in her task, she lets one of her legs dangle off the edge, the rock biting into her thigh, the briskness of the water that engulfs her calf making her jump. It’s as if she’s feeling the cold for the first time, and she smiles to herself, a grin that dimples her cheeks. She makes an extra effort to revel in the feeling of the wind skating across the water droplets on her skin; the chill it brings. Because very soon, she will be engulfed in flame.

With a new found clarity, she brings a hand up to grasp her necklace, and finds the small gold medallion warm to the touch. A bit hot, in fact.

She’s ready.

She jumps off the rock, her boots immediately suctioning into the seabed. The waves of the Northern Sea that now break around her send chills shooting up her spine. The waves are strong, but she holds steady. A different smile graces Lucia’s face, one that few people have seen before. She’d once shown it to Sam, who had echoed it back to her; to the Albastra. He loves this tree. She had loved him.

She hates this tree - the life she had so long ago weeping out of its bark.

Lucia’s necklace is glowing against her chest, but this time, not from the moonlight. The wind is blowing her hair back, out of her face, with a new found intensity, as if a storm would soon make landfall.

She starts walking, slow and deliberate, out of the water. The wind is whipping the petals off the tree prematurely; they land in her hair, in the churning waves.

They would never see the sunlight again.

Lucia stretches her arms out, palms up, and closes her eyes. Her smile slowly fades as her eyebrows furrow, continuing her path towards the now naked tree. Sand is blowing up around her, encircling Lucia, but never touching her.

Her eyes are shut so tight, all she can see is red. It’s like she can feel the red swirling around her, and when she breathes, it’s smoke and heat. There’s a ringing in her ears that’s overpowering the sound of the sea digging into the beach behind her, and the howling wind viciously throwing around her hair, her necklace.

She continues to walk, the sand crunching beneath her as it turns to glass, as the shards whirl around her. Lucia is gasping for air, and though she can feel herself losing her grasp on reality, her hands remain steady out to her sides.

And then, all at once, the trance seemingly broken, the tunnel of shards around her falls, and it’s almost silent - the sea is calm, the ringing in her ears gone.

All that’s left is the howling wind.

To ignite the spark.

The stillness lasts a bit too long, and that box is opening again. Sam starts to flood the forefront of her mind, and her mind begins to waver. But she's already come this far.

She whispers, and it gets lost in the wind, “Sam, forgive me.”

She knows he won’t.

A small tear rolls down her cheek before Lucia, the Queen of Flame, is engulfed in fire.