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Nissa, in all her compleated glory, gazes down at Chandra. “Don’t you see, Chandra? I am perfect. You could-”
“You were always perfect,” Chandra interrupts, “to me, you have always been perfect.”
Nissa—beautiful, perfect Nissa—falters. The rigid mask of her face falls, for just a moment, and her features soften into the woman Chandra knows so well. The woman she loves. Though her face is back to a rigid calm in only a second, Chandra pushes on, and gods, she hates to interrupt Nissa, but she isn’t stopping now.
Tears of flame slide down her face as she approaches Nissa, perfect, broken, Nissa, but Chandra hardly notices the sizzling at her feet. “I don’t need you to change. Not for me, not for Phyrexia, not for anyone. I love you, Nissa. I loved you then, and I love you now.”
Nissa had expected flames. She had expected Chandra—beautiful, stupid Chandra—to hate her, to hate the Phyrexian perfection she wore so naturally. But not this.
The others had looked at her with fear, with, at the very least, sadness. They would not accept compleation, for themselves or any others. They didn't-couldn't understand, couldn’t know how wonderful it felt. But Chandra, brave, foolish Chandra, smiles through her blazing tears, closing the distance between the two.
“I don’t care that you’re a Phyrexian. I– no matter what you are,” Chandra stumbles through the sentence, but doesn’t stop, “I love you no matter what you are. Who you are.”
There is something slick and wet on Nissa’s cheeks. What is this? Has Chandra wounded her in some way? She registers no pain, at least… not there… And yet her face now drips with oil, streaming from… tear ducts? She hadn’t realized she could still–
Before the animist can object or back away, Chandra puts her hand to the silken cheek of the elf, gloved fingers wiping the black tears away. Even with the gloves, touching the oil, touching Nissa, is probably stupid as hell, but Chandra doesn’t fucking care. She worries Nissa might flinch away- she never liked to be touched, especially without warning like this. But Nissa is frozen in her surprise– before she leans into the gentle caress. Nissa’s face is… warmer, softer than she expected. Nissa seems more confused than anything, but Chandra’s come so far already.
Time to finish this.
Chandra looks at Nissa, not at the woman she knew then, but the being she is now. The shine of copper and oil compliment the glittering green of her eyes, the soft skin of her scalp just beginning to sprout new, synthetic growths. Chandra puts her other glove to Nissa’s cheek and reaches up to meet her new height.
Nissa, animist ascendant, daughter of the Tangle and a Commander of the Copper Host, does nothing to stop the young pyromancer as she presses their lips together.
Dimly, a voice in her head reminds her that this is an ideal opportunity to share her glistening oil with the fleshling– but Nissa ignores that voice. She’s not exactly sure which instinct is urging her to push her tongue, a softer organ permitted to her for vocal and sensory purposes, into the fire mage’s mouth, but she ignores those instincts too. She listens to the voice that reminds her of Chandra’s imperfection, her wonderful, reckless, passionate imperfection… the voice that reminds her how much she loves it.
Nissa removes herself from the kiss, registering a change in temperature as she steps away from the magnificent heat that Chandra radiates. She tries to speak, but suddenly the metallic clang of her communication plates sounds too harsh, too loud to speak with Chandra. She tries again, and this time reaches for softer, forgotten organs, her tongue flexing in her mouth as she meets the pyromancer’s blazing eyes.
“I love you, Chandra Nalaar,” Nissa whispers.
Chandra’s face lights up, literally, as relieved bouts of flame sprout from her hair. Nissa can barely take her eyes away from the sight, but she does, wrenching herself away from the woman’s touch as she clutches her head with one set of her hands, grappling with her own claim. Is this possible? Can she love something so imperfect? Can she love Phyrexia, love the plane, the hosts, the kind and wise creatures that fight in her name… but love Chandra too?
The pyromancer's hands, reaching out for hers- not touching her, not yet, but asking for permission, are answer enough.
Nissa’s copper plated fingers interlace with Chandra’s, and she relishes the firm contact of the metal. Strangely, it isn’t foreign to her… the delicate structures almost remind her of the feel of filigree, bringing up childhood memories of tinkering and playing with her parents. The touch is a comfort, and Chandra smiles at the feeling.
This is… really stupid. Nissa could strike her at any moment, lash out with a clawed hand or a burst of oil, but somehow Chandra knows she won’t. If Jace were here, he would… well. Jace can’t exactly judge her for this, considering what she’s heard from Kaya.
Inhibitions aside, Chandra tilts her head up to kiss the animist again, relishing the hard metal underneath her skin, and relishing the dark blush that spreads across Nissa’s face as oil floods her cheeks even more. Her own face is probably redder than her breastplate right now, but Chandra could hardly care less.
She’s wanted to do this for so long. Too long, really, and it’s a shame it took this to make her finally confess her feelings.
And yet, despite the situation, kissing Nissa, even just on her lips (she isn’t quite dumb enough to stick her tongue in a Phyrexian’s mouth, although it’s a close call) is everything she expected and more. Chandra can’t help but wonder if perhaps people would be less opposed to compleation if they knew how good it felt to kiss Phyrexian lips. Or maybe she was just into that.
Either way, kissing Nissa felt right. Deep in her chest, Chandra felt a new spark blazing to life— this time, for the first time since the invasion had begun, it was a spark of something new. A spark of hope.