No one understood Lelouch and CC. Sometimes, it seemed that even the two of them were confused as to what they were.

They shared a bond, not romantic, not platonic, not quite familial, nor something that could pretend to be friendship. They were a pair unto themselves, something comparable to a puzzle of jagged edges that somehow fit when fate maneuvered their directions.

They were one. They were two. They were opposites that fueled each other before anyone was even aware.

Kallen spent her days wondering about the duo. To begin, there was a flare of jealously, hot and angry in her chest at their presumed closeness. Yet, as time went on, that faded to a curiosity, a fondness for the strangeness of it all.
She was the strong right hand, the knight that brought her flames down on the world and in spite of that (or perhaps because of it) because of her nature, she didn't stand a chance with the two, for even fire would waver in the face of it all.

She saw them like this:

CC was the snow. She was in the slow puffs of soft snowflakes that gently drifted down, constantly, paced in a leisurely path, sleepy little things that could blanket and muffle the world. Snow always seemed so content to mute everything, enveloping all it touched in it's soft arms. There was no fear, no panic, no desire or ambition.
And occasionally, she'd be the playful whirls of snow that dusted windowsills and teased in it's lively dance.
She was the quiet danger as well, the danger of suffocation when her slow steady pace didn't ever cease.
She'd lure some in with that pristine white, covering red hands and a red heart. Her winning smile, mysterious eyes were all an enchanting spell for those who dusted their hands with the ice crystals.
She was paced, unobtrusive and the slow noose around one's neck.

Lelouch was the wind.

He'd be gentle and kind with those he favored, turning windmills, filling sails of those who were out of breath, tugging on Nunally's hair playfully.
Wind that would pluck ribbons out of people's hands, leading them in a cheery chase, that would carry leaves miles over roads to decorate the dust.
But when he raged -oh, how he raged.
He was the one who would flatten fields with the force of his anger, rattle the homes of those he feared. He'd destroy anything within his reach, flipping entire worlds on their head with a whim, a breath, a word.
He'd leave as fast as he came, leaving nothing but a whirlwind of humanity behind him until he came next.
In his hands -behind that measured countenance- laid the howling voice of the mountains.

He was fast, he was yearning, his grasp and touch, faster than the eye could see.

She was the snow, soft and heavy. He was the wind, sharp and caressing.

Kallen was the fire. Fire that couldn't help but be fanned by the coaxing voice of the wind to burn brighter, fire that crackled against the snow, that slowed to admire the glow they created together, fire that spat and couldn't help but watch the cold, cold, cold pair and shiver when the storms came.

She was the fire.

They were the storm.

And between the two of them, they brought the living world to its knees.

And she was the fire that, to the end, could not forget the caring touch of the wind, the playful nature of snow even as the blizzard left its tattered aftermath.