The Flame

The flame is so hot I feel I must escape it, but in doing so I will lost its warmpth. The white-hot fire feels almost cool against my skin before I am forced to move away lest I start to combust myself.

As the fire begins to wain, so does her anger. She know her time grown short, and begins to prepare herself for the dormant time. Like the Phoenix, the flame knows she will dance again.



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