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He Doth Teach the Torches

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Blake burns. He always has, since long before he froze, since before he ran from his father and made his home in the tunnels underneath Obsidian. He wonders sometimes if that was where it all started, if it was the flame that his father could never quite extinguish that made him such a perfect receptacle for the mutations in the air. 

Sometimes he’s certain of it.

There are three things he knows.

It was in his eyes that his father first saw the signs of the mutations. They shone too bright, unnatural , and he didn’t blink enough, unnatural , and when the flickering lights shut off, two bright pinpricks remained for just a split second before disappearing into the darkness, unnatural .

It was the fire under his skin that kept him alive when he ran. The streets were cold and dark and filled with horror, but the shadows stayed away from the boy with fire in his eyes, and the ice did not penetrate the warmth that he carried around him like a shield. 

It was the warmth of the laugh that he had never managed to lose that found him a home with The Lost. Strat burned too, though his was a cold fire, one which threatened daily to consume him and leave his ashes scattered on the lips and hearts of his family.

The first thing he noticed about Valkyrie, even before he approached her the night of the masked ball, was her hair. If he had fire in his eyes, she had just as much in every strand of her hair. It fell around her shoulders like a halo, illuminated by the dim lights of the Deep End, and with every sip of her drink it moved like flames in the wind. But that was then.

When they finally met, after much egging on from Ledoux and Mordema who both thought that his fascination with the curious girl who sat at the bar and spoke to nobody night after night, their fire became electricity and for a moment he thinks that it must be lighting up the dingy bar more than his eyes ever could. Then, hours or perhaps seconds later, the feeling had passed, and before he pulled her back into the crowd, he reached out and as he lifted her mask back over her eyes, he felt his hand brush against her hair and for a moment the world froze.

Blake has always burned bright. In the Deep End, surrounded by family, he burns steadily. His eyes burn bright and his heart warm, and he takes his fire and uses it to light a beacon for The Lost. By turns he is contemplative, ridiculous, sentimental and teasing, but he is always burning and he is always there as a light to guide the way home.