Child of Flame
January 20, 2016 § Leave a comment
She is a child of flame.
At times she is a candle, lantern-fire, dancing bright in the dark. A flirting smile, a gleam of dark eyes, and others like moths are entranced. She is the center of white-winged flocking, and she moves with the twisting quickness of a flame touched by wind.
Yet the moths forget that fire burns. She is a child of passion, and she is fierce in anger. It shows in the glint of firelight on shining stone; her eyes are obsidian and flame. It is not loud anger; there is no volcanic roar, nothing louder than the occasional snap of wood. But it is hot, and flares quickly when sparked; it is as blinding-bright as ignited magnesium, though it rarely lasts long.
There are other colors to passion, though, and they burn within as well. Grief is powerful, and pain; happiness is bright as desert sunlight. When conflicting emotions flare simultaneously, equally strong, it’s a firestorm of confusion. Live hard, love strong, experience; what is life without feeling?
She is fiercely proud. Maybe that’s what leads her to shield vulnerabilities; reactions and emotions of any sort are too often expressed as anger, or hidden as she withdraws. She carries herself with straight spine, ready grin, direct gaze; it all speaks of confidence.
She is sun-warmed sand, summer fire, solar flare; within her, too, are the flame-shadows dancing on cave walls, the grit of red ochre, a certain raw primality beneath the surface. She is a child of flame, and fire leaps beneath her skin.