Shrivelled Forget-me-not — V

Gone in the misery was he whom flames had sired, gone in the agony of loss was he whom the flames had empowered.

Scorching ambers was his beginning, would the same flames be his end? That was yet to be known.

Though, as far as anyone knew, it was simply not possible. It was in the nature of fiery embers to be destructive but to be warm, inviting and loving.

It is warmth like a gentle embrace of a mother a few would never know.

In spite of the destruction it wrought, the pain it inflicted, at its core fire was a warm phenomenon.

How could it bear to incinerate its own, its creation, with its own flames? That was simply unimaginable.

Unlike the coldness of water.

Water was gentle, the water was enduring. But at its very core, water was always much more destructive, much more ruthless than any fire could ever be.

It was in its nature. Cruelty and coldness. Indifference and agony.