Kintla Flatlands for here i lie in wait; hush little heart

The touch feels abrupt and scathing, scars blooming everywhere Taikon touches; consuming, the way a bruise blossoms from a spider-bite and wilts to fleshrot. A trembling intake of breath is the icewraith's only response at first, just for a breath, a single beat of the heart. Then his hesitation melts under the heat and falls away, forgotten. I want you to remember the flower, he thinks, yielding to the embrace and then, in the next moment, returning it fiercely. I'm not going to die, Is what comes out, soft, meant to reassure. I'll come back. I promise. Surviving is, after all, the only thing he truly knows how to do. Everything else in his life feels more like an educated guess at best, brimming with uncertainty and inexperience and a lack of any true education. Yet the Glister Witch has learned, at least, how to claw his way back from the brink; the Wilds, the only teacher he'd had in his youth, taught him well. Through all the tragedy of his life, Zephyr has always come out on top in the end, no matter how winding the path. Surely Taikon can see at least some of that in him. Surely he doesn't really think he's stupid.
The memory stings, and instead of withdrawing, the wraith presses closer.