Chapter 43

Fire.

Is there anything more beautiful in the world? Flames of scarlet, orange, and at the very center, blue. It is almost as if there is a tiny fleck of ice at the center of each fire. It burns so keenly, and if you look close enough, you can see the point at which it begins to take on a life of its own.

We need it so badly, yet if it gets out of hand, there is nothing we can do to stop it. It is the line between survival and obliteration by cold, clammy death, but if you cross over that line, you can be scorched until you are nothing more than dust.

There is beauty in its savagery, I think.

That's what she used to call me, "Beautiful Savage."

When I worked for her, cleaned for her, even fought for her, I would hear that name ring in my ears like the ever present bells in her castle. "Beautiful Savage."