Magic Wielders → The Pyromancers
They always laugh at the same time, but smile with the opposite corners of their mouths. As children they never spoke. Now they are never silent. ’Come here, come here- We’ve seen the past in a candle. We’ve seen the future in a forest fire.’ Their voices are twins and twined. Not a man’s, not a woman’s. The hiss of pine pitch and bone-dry white birch as it’s thrown into the stove, onto the funeral pyre.
The faces they wear contort in the breeze. Lovely, wicked- youthful, monstrous. Fire is never kind, after all, only fickle.