The flames were tragically beautiful- poetic, too. They danced blissfully unaware of the pain they inflicted, not a single incantation first whispered, then shouted, then screamed capable of extinguishing them. The bright, unflinching circle of orange seemed to be closing in, growing tighter and tighter around the wolf until the only emotion she could feel was panic. All she could smell was smoke and burnt roses. She longed to free herself from the spiraling fire, from the air that seemed to grow heavier around her, from her spluttering coughs and burning eyes. Her lungs felt raw.

[color=#ac5847]"I.. I call upon my an-ancesto... Ancestors..." She choked out, russeted form almost collapsing in on itself. She hadn't sustained any burns yet, but with how close the fire licked, she could halfway imagine the sting of singing fur. The Earth, Feyre darling. The Earth can't forsake you. She wondered if that voice was a gift from her ancestors themselves, a heed to her prayer. She could hardly ponder the timeliness of her guiding spirit though, not when a new incantation - an unfamiliar incantation - was falling from bitten, bloodied lips.

[color=#ac5847]"Phasmatos consistorium."

The Earth seized slightly underneath her, the flames that had gotten close - too close - suddenly buried beneath soil and dirt. She coughed and then heaved a sigh of relief, trying desperately to ignore the new type of burning in her chest. She shouldn't have ever tried to set those roses on fire. She should have ignored them- continuing on with her merry way and paying no mind to the painfully familiar flower that refused to stop blooming underfoot. Gods... Gods...

They were back, poking through the ground and taunting her with their too-sweet scent. She would have plucked them angrily from their branches and thrown them as far away from her as possible had a wave of dizziness not crashed into her, causing the young Feyre to roll onto her side, a weak whimper spilling from her parted jaws. It probably wasn't a good thing that she suddenly couldn't breathe, but the spiraling darkness that began to close in on her impaired her judgement.

[color=#ac5847]"I hate roses."

(tl;dr: feyre is a dumb bitch and started setting roses on fire because they began to sprout at her paws. she lost control and is now suffering from some immense breathing problems)

Ha, fire. Of course. What other element would anyone want to mess with other than the most destructive one on average? No, no, it wouldn't be as fun to play around with some water and just make the place wet, gods forbid. Or even just messing around with some damned rocks.

The scent of something disgusting, burning, yet sweet had caught his attention, as it would for anyone else who happened to be within distance to smell it. Of course, the scent of anything on fire grabbed his current mood by the ankles and yanked it downwards, no matter how good or bad he was already feeling. Alexander, for one, hated fire, and everything about it. It was a hateful fear that came with birth in his case, and the blaze of the Observatory hadn't done much to help him out, immersion therapy had failed him there it seemed. Two, fire always ended in injury of some kind, and there was too much going on already for someone to get injured by some dangerous need to set something ablaze. And who other to do something like that than the little witch girl herself?

He took a few steps back after arriving to the scene, an uncharacteristic frown crossing his dark face. However, as much as he desired to do so, he chose not to berate the strange rose-despising child at the current time, she looked bad enough as it was. Instead, he aimed to gently grab her by the scruff and pull her away from the roses she hated so much. He didn't know how to help her out in this situation, but he'd rather she didn't stay near those flowers.

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ONISION MIKAELSON-FOLIE
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!