You were born with a flame in you heart
but you must tend it carefully
for the words of others may squash it,
like dousing fire with water.
The flame within you is important
because recall that one candle can light
so many others before it too falls
quiet into shadow and death.
The ancient tribe of the
Shiekah have always lived in the shadows. Surrounded by mystery, magic,
and power they have forged a community of almost supernatural ability.
Perhaps this is why they were chosen by the goddesses.
mysticism they have the ability to look into the future and have
reflexes that border on precognition making them exceptional warriors.
So too are they adept at hand to hand combat, weapons, poison, and
traps. It is said that many of the dangers in Hyrule came from their own designs to defend the ancient temples of the Goddesses.
The Fire Dancers from Death Mountain were imbued with their fighting
techniques born in flame. Along with Shadow Mimicry from the Water
Temple, and Necromancy in the Shadow temple to name a few.
passed, treachery and suspicion lead the Sheikah to fade into history.
Through violence or exile the people of the Sheikah were slaughtered and
hidden away … or do they still exist unknown to the world in perhaps
For an evanescent moment, looking into the bonfire, Luke thought he saw faces dancing—Yoda, Ben; was it his father? He drew away from his companions, to try to see what the faces were saying; they were ephemeral, and spoke only to the shadows of the flames, and then disappeared altogether.
The question had crossed his mind over and over and he’d known that once it was out of his mouth there’d be no taking it back. But it was impossible to keep the words from spilling out now that she was next to him, her cheeks flushed with giddy happiness and her eyes glazed over. The words were like an avalanche, gathering speed and bound to bury the two of them. He couldn’t stop them. Didn’t want to. They’d been haunting him long enough.
“Does he make you feel good?” Her face fell, then paled, then scrunched up. The poison lacing his voice was unmistakeable.
“You wouldn’t understand.” But he would. He would understand, because she’d been a radiant person before she met that guy and now she was a dimmed flame, a shadow of her former self. “He makes me feel weak,” she said simply and smiled shyly, like feeling weak was a good thing. “My knees fail me when we kiss. I can hardly breathe.” It hurt. Hearing her say things like this hurt him more than he’d like to admit, more than he could bear. “He shouldn’t make you feel this way,” he said quietly, deliberately avoiding her gaze. In that moment, he knew what he’d see if he looked at her: that stubborn tilt to her jaw that he adored, the feigned hardness in her eyes. “He should make you feel strong. With every kiss and every touch, he should make your world brighter, he should ease your worries and assure you. You should be happy. You should be told that you deserve the world every single day and that the world does not even begin to deserve you. You should love someone who shows you how much they love you with every breath you take.” And I would do this for you, he added quietly, unwillingly. Because he couldn’t say it out loud, never. She was happy. It was a wrong kind of happiness, he knew, but with that he couldn’t help her. It wasn’t his place to take that happiness away from her. It wasn’t his place to shatter what she had built for herself, even though it was a path to destruction.
You, darkness, of whom I am born —
I love you more than the flame
that limits the world
to the circle it illumines
and excludes all the rest.
But the darkness embraces everything:
shapes and shadows, creatures and me,
people, nations — just as they are.
It lets me imagine
a great presence stirring beside me.
I believe in the night.
There’s a moment, when Sam lights
the lantern and the warm glow of it illuminates the cut of his jaw, where Dean
is thrown back like whiplash, wheeling through space and time to another cabin, another clear night in the forest with a kaleidoscope of spinning stars overhead and the weight of a bullet rattling heavy
in his pocket—
(Sam lit the lanterns then with shaking hands, bleeding too much too fast through fingers
pressed bloodless and numb to his side. The flame cast shadows on the
planes of his face, pale and drained and contorted with staggering pain, flickered and
danced quietly there until he lay lifeless on the cold floor—the last guttering echo
The memory makes Dean shudder. Then Sam looks up at him with the
reflected light burning in his eyes—their myriad colours swallowed up
by darkness—and Dean shakes his head, whispers nothing and just cold into
the empty space between them, vows silently that Sam will be breathing when
the sun rises.
I cannot wait to move into my own apartment, where the walls are painted white and the only thing that’ll magnify colour will be my collection of rare art work sourced from random artists online. Vanilla candles will be lit in the evening - no form of fake energy seeming through bulbs, and the flickering of the flame will cause the shadows in the corners of the room to dance. My TV will be connected to my laptop and the sounds of reggae and soul will be heard throughout the entire house non stop. The aroma will be a mix of marijuana, washing powder and incense sticks and the house will remain minimal with hardly any furniture, so I’ll always have a clear mind. My new apartment will basically resemble the household my mother raised me in, peace and tranquility.