Let the Past Burn...

Title: Let the Past Burn... Word Count: 990 Warnings: Fire Created for the Tropetember Event - (Let The Past Burn) Taking in the theater before her, Callista wondered briefly how Varvara was doing with all of this. It was hard for her to be here, but she couldn’t imagine how it was for her friend. Friends felt like a stretch in a way, but that’s what they’d become. This theater had ruined them for years. Arturius ruined them. It should be a crime really, that a theater this beautiful deserved such an awful fate. Painted in a myriad of greens, golds, and pale cream, it just exuded an excellence that was evident in the shows it put forth to the world. Though, these days, the paint was peeling and falling off. The metallic shine of the gold paint had dulled and the shades of green taken on a nasty hue. Callista supposed Arturius’ dreadfulness had seeped into the very building itself. Seems rather fitting, doesn’t it, that someone that awful would taint everything around them. She paced across the weathered brick entryway, leaving smudged prints with each click of her boots. There’d been a time where she strode across this entryway and into the theater with an ecstatic smile across her face. Overjoyed to be working in a place this grandiose. The orchestra had always been practicing furiously when she’d arrive, their music echoing through the shimmering halls and out to the streets. Streets that were packed with people desperate to get in to see the newest show. Taking each step as she descended off the entryway and towards the overgrown grass, Callista shook her head once, twice then let out a sigh. She’d been so fucking angry when she lost this job, but now a wave of calm had settled around her. The burning fire that fueled her had gone out and replaced itself with an icy shell covering her heart. Pulling the jacket she wore tighter against herself, Callista slipped one hand into an outside pocket and removed a box of matches. The box was worn as though she’d carried it for months, and frankly, she had. The idea to do this had come up so, so long ago, but Callista and Varvara had struggled with their morality at the thought of it. This had been a beautiful theater. Even the seats inside had been covered in expensive velvet and filled with the softest material Callista had ever felt. Intricate carvings covered the inside and out, wrapping their away around the grand entryway and beckoning you inside. The quality of everything here had been immaculate until he arrived — Arturius. When Callista first started this job, it had been the answer to her prayers. Getting a job in the theater system was often a stepping stone into finding your way into the shows, Callista knew that much. And to be hired at a theater this prestigious? It should’ve been inevitable. Needless to say, it was not. Arturius had made sure of that. She remembered being called into her boss’ office just to see him sitting comfortably on the desk, her boss nowhere in sight. He’d had his typical smug smirk plastered across his face, but the look in his eyes unsettled her. Callista remembered him sliding off the desk and ordering her to shut the door because they needed to discuss her attitude. She remembered listening to him fabricate stories of her mistreating the clientele that frequented the theater. “Who are they going to believe, Callista? A no-name, pathetic excuse of an actress, or a brilliant, proven actor who witnessed your vile actions?” Arturius had made it crystal clear then that if she didn’t behave how he thought she should — allowing anyone and everyone to mistreat her for the simple act of doing her damned job — her job would be gone. He’d taken advantage of how desperate she was for that job. After that conversation, Callista remembered rushing out of the office just to run into Varvara who had taken in the disappointment and defeat etched across her features. The only other woman to work at the theater was also being called into the office. The door slammed shut behind her friend and as she strode away, she heard yelling echo from the closed office. She supposed she had received the same ultimatum of sorts. Conform or leave. Fumbling with the matchbox again, she wondered if Varvara was nearly done. Every so often she heard trills of laughter escape the building and she couldn’t really blame the woman. It’d hit her so much harder. Callista was angry, but God, Varvara was something else entirely. When they had both been fired, Arturius had released fabricated stories to the press that they’d assaulted clientele as well as other employees. Pictures had floated about in the immediate aftermath, with their former acquaintances showcasing falsified injuries crafted by professional makeup artists. These images and stories ruined their chance at a film career. They’d done absolutely everything asked of them just for this pathetic excuse of a man to betray their efforts for the sake of it. The theater fell apart after that. Tilting her head up, Callista chuckled to herself as the embellished front doors of the theater were thrown open. A gas can tumbled out, gasoline spraying out of it onto the ground below and laughter following it. Her friend’s wicked laughter filled the air as she stepped into the night, arms outstretched and head tilted back. If she were anyone else, Callista would perhaps be worried, but the relief that had already settled across Varvara was evident. “Light her up, Callie.” Striking a match against the worn matchbox, Callista watched as flames flicked into the air and threw it towards the theater. The fire that burst forth from the gasoline was all consuming, aiming to destroy this personal hell of theirs once and for all. And as the fire tore through the building they’d once called a second home, Callista leaned her head against Varvara’s shoulder. “We made it. We’re free.” Made in cooperation with Arcane Triplet. (In other words, check her post to see how Varvara was handling the situation!)