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Summary
Fire.
Wild, and untamed—it burns bright. It burns fierce. It burns through flesh and cloth, through everything around it, until it burns itself into Florian’s soul.
Those flames that day wounded Florian—but, in time, he’d learn they could also serve him.
Without careful hands to wield them, they destroy. They don’t discriminate between what becomes ash, all being turned to dust beneath their scorching heat. But Florian knows them. He knows them well, and he knows how to keep them tight in his grasp, how to tame them.
If Florian so desires it, the flames dance in his palm. Their fiery tongues consume what he wishes for them to, turning everything he detests into the same blackened char—and, on the same note, if he wills it, they die out, leaving what he wishes to preserve behind.
They’re dangerous, and they’re destructive, but that’s what makes them so beautiful. That’s what makes them so satisfying to watch, when they bend to Florian’s will.