"You see me standing while I'm dying on the floor" -Demi Lovato {Stone Cold}
To most, she was the epitome of how an Isldar was perceived by outsiders; cold, harsh and excessively ruthless and defensive on her life in the Wraith hold. Emotions appeared as foreign as Regalia once was to her: Good in some aspects. But when one lacks in what others so frequently display, they can crave it in the deepest depths of one's subconscious. Even if she consciously didn't want to feel, wanted to be 'emotionally numb' as an old friend called it, other parts of her, her most primal parts of her mind evidently had other ideas.
Like a fire, fundamental elements were needed to trigger the seldom felt emotions of the woman. Her emotions were like that of a gaseous form- often hard to see until the time came where it was too late. Her emotions were spaced out, always around but were seldom acknowledged, though when there were, they were contained tightly in the parts of her mind she cared not to think about. It was, in her opinion, an effective solution. She was surprised when the pressure burst, but really, she knew it would happen. Whilst she was not as wise when it came to emotions over other aspects, she surely must've known it all would've ended badly.
The flammable gasses of emotion were stuffed away continuously after each and every tragedy that occurred in her life. Every ounce of anxiety, every shrivel of sadness, every atom of anger was stored away, concealed from view where nobody could see it. Hidden in plain sight and stored in a tight space whilst the pressure mounted.
"Flammable gasses only need the tiniest cause to ignite."
She recalled her mother informing her whilst she sat in the cool confines of the hold, her snow white locks being combed through until they displayed a soft sheen which put Isldarin silk to shame.
"The more gas stored away, the bigger the explosion."
She never truly knew understood what her mother meant by these words until it was too late...
A woman skilled in the art of espionage and other shady tactics, Katrina was adept at working under pressure, so she paid no mind to the levels of stress rising within her. She was known to take most events in her stride, so to most, it came as no shock when she found the corpse of her lover hanging from a tree in the garden of her cottage in Dragenthal. It was evident that she was saddened, but she persevered with only her goals in mind.
Even in Linvail, her life was shrouded in secrecy. As an elf, and the only female of her band, she was subject to scrutiny and harassment which oddly enough, to which she did not appear fazed. Until a few months prior to his death, her family and those around her were oblivious to the fact the Frostling far from home had found love. Katrina's beloved brother, Ceridor, was among the first to know, closely followed by her younger sister, Elyana; the latter being jealous of her sibling's success in life. The remainder of her closely knit family found out, with scandalous rumors of a potential baby on the way circulating throughout Kat's innermost circles.
She trusted her family, or that is what she told herself at the time; she didn't want to burden them with the news of the death of her dear fiance.
Lies.
She simply wanted to delay the inevitable, the time when she would have to truly acknowledge the love of her life was no more.
That day did surely come, some three and a half weeks after her avanthar counterpart took his final breaths. She didn't let on as such, or maybe she didn't even know that she was about to explode in a fiery ball of despair. A close friend of hers, an ailor she had truly come to respect; the first ailor she had come to respect one day approached her, with little to offer in terms to comfort and seemingly even less so in terms of advice.
"You can't hold back the flames forever, they will char a heart of stone, and melt a heart of ice."
These words offended the Isldar. What would an ailor know about her? Moreso the ways of her kind. She had grown sick to the very core of the ailor around her who faked their expertise. She didn't even attend the send-off of her lover; she was gone. Home, where she knows people would truly understand her train of thought.
The long, tedious journey home only worsened her ailment. She grew irritable, frequently snapping at those who dared approach her. This feeling, yet again, grew more severe as she neared the land of her kin. Tired both physically and mentally, she trudged in through the doors of her family home, the dark rings under her eyes contrasting with her pale skin.
It took only one look of her parents, happily married and settled down to create the spark that set her whole mind aflame. Her parents had everything she had desires, love, companionship and a family to continue their legacy. She knew they had expected that much of her- and she had failed them. This hit harder than all the other blows beforehand.
Isldar are known for being creatures of ice- one can only imagine the effect the raging fires of emotion can have on them.
She had barely made it up the stairs to her room when everything came crumbling down around her, the flames of her emotions stored away burning away ceaselessly. Her breaths had quickened, and become significantly shallow, and her shaky, now scarred hands moved to clasp at the sides of her head.
Then came the shriek. One of sheer agony that would surely haunt those around her for the rest of their lives. The fact it came from someone who was once known to be cold, even by Isldar standards, made it all the more terrifying.
Tears had started to stream down her cheeks, and when her parents rushed to her aid after the scream, all they found was the unresponsive shell of the daughter they once had.
It is unclear to all who witnessed the events as to what happened next, a time of sheer panic. By the time the elf had been rendered stable and asleep, the two married Isldar who Katrina called her parents had fallen asleep on either side of the king sized bed they had placed her in, hugging onto her from either side in an attempt to comfort, protect the daughter they had raised.
An azure eye opened, one of the Frostling's who was sandwiched between her mother and father, who had showered her in the love which she knew she'd never get from a romantic perspective ever again. With her eyes stained red with the tears, bloodshot and her body practically red from overheating, she'd carefully move to slip out of their grasp. Once free, the stealthy traipsing of the shaky limb Isldar commenced, to the balcony of the family residence.
The icy winds battered her, yet they were welcome. They eased the burns she had sustained mentally. The fire inside her burned on before a particularly cold gust extinguished it altogether. The cold was her friend, it could put out the warmth, harm of the fire that burned within, soothed the pain, numbed both body and mind.
After gazing off into the distance for a good few minutes, the elf allowed her icy hues to flutter shut, her lips parting as she began to utter a prayer in the Draconic tongue she had had to use in secret in Dragenthal.
"<Wyrm> After a dance of ice and fire, ice has prevailed. My divine Frostweaver, I shall not fail again."
Her words were simple yet stated her goals; to never allow a spark to ignite her again.
And so, despite the advice she had been given, she soldiered on, concealing her emotions even to herself, the vicious cycle had started once more...
