In this world of change, nothing which comes stays, and nothing which goes is lost.
.: .:.: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .: .:
I. It began innocently enough.
A spark here, a flicker there, and then suddenly it erupts into life, so passionate and lovely and utterly unsatiable.
(Whether it's the fire or her addiction she's refering to, even she doesn't really know.)
II. The first time she plays with fire, it's with a nicked box of matches she took from her parent's cabinets.
She'd been eyeing it for days, and then one day her parents went out together for the night. Adrenaline pumping, heart fluttering, she quickly drags the chair to the cabinet, climbs up and swipes it. She lights one and marvels at the flames. Then another, and another, and another until the whole box was gone. It was so wrong, so rebellious, yet it felt oh so fun.
When her parents asked her where the matches were, she merely shrugged and said I don't know.
III. It was absolutely blazing now.
The flames flickering, undulating and twisting in an intricate dance that absolutely captivated her, it flowed over the wood, leaving nothing but a crisp, delicate, blackened ornament in its wake--a testament to its power and majesty.
She adored her little ballerina, dancing a dance only she recognized and appreciated. Dancing to a symphony of crackles and flares unique to fire itself, it danced on.
And she danced too.
IV. "It's because your hair is a brilliant shade of red, like fire itself," they once told her. She hated that. Her hair was red, just red, plain and simple. It could not capture the scarlets, tangerines, golds, and hints of crystylline blue that all entertwined and molded together to form a being of singular beauty and pure energy. No, her hair was not fire. And for that she envied the flames even more.
V. She watched the flames eat their way down the paper. She watched as the edges curled, as if protecting the body before the flames engulfed it all. Slowly, slowly it progressed until it singed her fingers. Quickly dropping the paper, she sucked on the burn, already feeling the blisters forming. She did not blame it; it was part of it's nature--part of the very thing she loved.
Yet after that, she always handled the flames with care.
VI. She became a creature of the flames that year--the blisters on her fingers her rings, the odor of smoke and ash her perfume. It was her love and her life.
Later she couldn't, for the life of her, recall why she ever stopped burning.
VII. "Fire arrow," she calmly said, before watching her target--a lupin--become engulfed in flames, shrieking in agony before collapsing in a charred heap on the ice encrusted ground.
Her party shouted at her to hurry up, that she's slowing down the party, so she just nodded and teleported towards them. Teleported away from the flames.
VIII. She'd grown. She became as beautiful as Aegle--daughter of Helios--and as elegant as a phoenix.
Men lined up to court her, ask for her hand in marriage, or merely kiss her on the cheek. Hundreds, if not thousands, were spurned.
Then one day, she catches a glimpse of fiery red hair, and something stirs inside of her. She smiles and offers her hand.
"Hello."
And something completely new ignites.
IX. Beaten and torn, she faced down her strongest adversary yet. It was gigantic, a monolith of creaking bone and rippling flesh that stared her down with more murderous intent than seemed physically possible. And for the first time in her life, she was terrified.
They said that right before you are about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. She never bought it. It simply wasn't possible. How was every memory, every emotion, every vestige of life supposed to be recalled in a split second? It just didn't make sense.
Yet here she was, recalling such poignant memories, even ones that have been buried deep by time and strife are resurfacing, flowing past her in a mosiac of emotion and nostalgia. She saw herself awestruck by the beauty of fire for the first time. She saw her experimenting with fire for the first time, remembered the exhilaration of rebellion, the power of wielding fire for the first time, saw her first love, saw her mother slaving away at stove to prepare her dinner, saw her husband smiling that little small smile at her that captured her heart, remembered the adoration and love she felt for her firstborn child. Then, she snapped back to the present and smirked.
No, you didn't see your whole life. That didn't make sense. But maybe you saw something worth living for. Something worth dying for.
She summoned all of her power, and concentrated it into a tiny flame that blazed in the palm of her hand.
She stared at it and saw it blur slightly as a tear formed in her eye, astounded by the resemblance, the familiarity, she saw in it. The resemblence to her, to life, to love.
She turned her palm downwards and uttered a single word.
"Eruption."
And everything became bright, so so very bright and utterly beautiful...
X. Far away, a mother sings a hymn to her child, manipulating the flames floating above her hand to form basic shapes to captivate her child. Her baby reaches up her hands trying to touch the radiance, the intangible feelings it invokes. The mother brings it out of reach, smiling in adoration.
Quickly extinguishing the fire, she strokes her child's face, gives it a peck on the forehead, and tucks it in to sleep.
In the baby's flood of senses, the image of her mother blurs as she drifts off. Snippets of music float in and out of her consciousness, and a contented smile graces her cherubic face as she falls asleep.
Remade, revamped, and everything else that comes with it. Retained the basic storyline of the original, but took a different approach. Review and give some constructive criticism seriously, and I hope you like it. There's alot of subtle (and not so subtle) references and themes so that it fits the criteria. Try to identify some of 'em so I know how I did in giving off the message.