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Literature Text
When people think of a fire goddess, they think of Pyra, the nymph who dances in the flames. She wears them like a dress - wreathing her, making her skin glow. Her features are simple but pretty, fire dancing in her eyes and her hair as she wriggles and twists in the grate.
They do not think of me, Cinis, because I do not look like a goddess to them. Pyra may rejoice in the fire, but it answers to me. I am its mistress; it is my bidding that sends it blazing to destroy everything in its path; my words that summon it out of hell and kindle it in dark places.
But could I do so untouched? No. For fire does not wear a leash. It rages around its mistress and scars her as if she were one of the hapless mortals to be incinerated in its scorching heat. My face and arms are more scar tissue than unblemished skin, knots and whorls decorating my features like some old ravaged tree. Even my body has suffered the ravishes of its uncaring tendrils - flickers of scars across my ribs and breasts, reminders of who I am.
Because this is who I am. No fire is started without me. I am the one who brings it forth and sucks it back. It is around me and within me. Lady of the flames - but I am no lady. I control them as one controls an untamed dragon - and no-one can do that unscathed.
I summon them, reaching into the night to bring forth blazing heat that wraps itself around my body as I feed a little at a time into a darkened corner. A darkened corner which grows brighter and brighter until the last of the flames have left me and I let them run amok, greedily devouring wood and paper, cloth and plaster. They melt bolts and shrivel plastics, belching poisonous fumes into the night air, growing ever larger until it seems that they will never be contained again.
Afterwards, the flames having taken their fill, they calm somewhat and start to ebb - tamer, now, than they were. And the product of their labours is spread on the wind - fine dust and larger flakes, all that remains of great houses, lush forests and people of power: ash.
think of a fire goddess and think of me. Cinis. Ash. Not a young dancer glowing with delight in a fire that isn't hers, but a goddess of destruction. Say what you will about youth and beauty and perfection, but I am the one who will be there at the end. I will wreak your destruction.
I alone can turn everything you hold dear to ash.
They do not think of me, Cinis, because I do not look like a goddess to them. Pyra may rejoice in the fire, but it answers to me. I am its mistress; it is my bidding that sends it blazing to destroy everything in its path; my words that summon it out of hell and kindle it in dark places.
But could I do so untouched? No. For fire does not wear a leash. It rages around its mistress and scars her as if she were one of the hapless mortals to be incinerated in its scorching heat. My face and arms are more scar tissue than unblemished skin, knots and whorls decorating my features like some old ravaged tree. Even my body has suffered the ravishes of its uncaring tendrils - flickers of scars across my ribs and breasts, reminders of who I am.
Because this is who I am. No fire is started without me. I am the one who brings it forth and sucks it back. It is around me and within me. Lady of the flames - but I am no lady. I control them as one controls an untamed dragon - and no-one can do that unscathed.
I summon them, reaching into the night to bring forth blazing heat that wraps itself around my body as I feed a little at a time into a darkened corner. A darkened corner which grows brighter and brighter until the last of the flames have left me and I let them run amok, greedily devouring wood and paper, cloth and plaster. They melt bolts and shrivel plastics, belching poisonous fumes into the night air, growing ever larger until it seems that they will never be contained again.
Afterwards, the flames having taken their fill, they calm somewhat and start to ebb - tamer, now, than they were. And the product of their labours is spread on the wind - fine dust and larger flakes, all that remains of great houses, lush forests and people of power: ash.
think of a fire goddess and think of me. Cinis. Ash. Not a young dancer glowing with delight in a fire that isn't hers, but a goddess of destruction. Say what you will about youth and beauty and perfection, but I am the one who will be there at the end. I will wreak your destruction.
I alone can turn everything you hold dear to ash.
This is for the Flame and Ash short story competition, based off of this deviation.
This is the story of the woman in that picture.
Before she told me her story, I would have thought of Pyra too.
This piece is now finished. No more critiques. thanks!
See more of my literature here.
This is the story of the woman in that picture.
Before she told me her story, I would have thought of Pyra too.
This piece is now finished. No more critiques. thanks!
See more of my literature here.
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