Farewell, young flame.

Fire danced in her eyes, a blistering heat that taunted her, a slow cascade back and forth before her face, close but never touching, testing how close it could get. She refused any movement, a low smile drawn on her lips as she watched its meaningless efforts to scare her into submission. The flames were weak, fragile, she could easily pluck it out of the air and put it out, but she wanted it to feel powerful, as if it could even touch her with a gentle caress, before she put it out of its hopeless existence. 

The heat from the flames drove her body into a panic, nerves on edge as the continuous warmth unnerved her body. Still, she never ceased, eyeing the small fire as it floated back and forth, remaining still as though her body were made of ice. It inched closer, closer still, until she could feel the heat burning her skin, poking and pricking her and she fought a wince. A small gust of wind, mischievous laughter, and the click of a lighter. She pulled her hand from her pocket to reveal a jewel-studded blade, and without a second’s hesitation, slashed it through the fire, effectively sealing it inside. She smiled as the cackles mellowed down, and resigned to wailing sobs, and eyed the blade as it lit up with searing hot flames, raging and lashing out at her, attempting to reach her before its inevitable cast back into the steel blade. She reveled in its rage, its anguish, and the undeniable hopelessness of its fate. 

She slicked back the blade with her hand, drawing blood, and upon the flames’ flaring response, grinned with malevolence before licking her own blood off the dagger, and absorbing the heat within. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, bloodied and wicked, and, upon reminiscing the fire’s recent horror, raised an eyebrow to her reflection, as if to say, “What are you gonna do about it?”