Gone
I'm sorry.
I'm so, so sorry.
When I needed you, you were there for me.
But when you needed me, I left you.
Abandoned you.
To the wrath of the flames.
Fire.
I used to think they were beautiful.
Crimson and scarlet, with dashes of amber and marigold, flashes of saffron.
Beautiful, but deadly.
So beautiful, you forgot about how deadly it was.
Beautiful.
Like Paris during sunrise. The entire city glowing golden, bathing in the sun rays that washed over the city in waves.
Like you.
Before the flames devoured you.
Now I can't stand seeing even a single lick of flames.
Once, when it was late, I stared into the beautiful flame, burning on the candle. Like a dancer atop it's waxy stage.
In the very middle, the very middle of the flames, it was not red or orange or yellow, but black.
Darkness.
Darkness wrapped in beautiful layers and layers of bright colors.
A nightmare disguised as a daydream.
Hell disguised as heaven.
Like me.
I'm sorry.
So sorry, Jeanne D'arc.
So sorry I wasn't there for you.
So sorry I abandoned you to the flames.
So, so sorry.
But all the apologies in the world can do nothing now.
Because you're gone.
Burned into ashes that blew away, into that cold, dark night.
Gone.
Forever.
Btw, if you haven't figured it out already, the speaker was France to Joan of Arc.