Watch me turn to ashes. Watch the fire, because the fire is more beautiful than what is burning.
It was all ash now. Ash drifting through the air as the wind pulled it away from where its original form fell. Black ash. It should have been emeralds and autumn leaves in the air. It should have been red like the fire that consumed it, and green like the Christmas decorations that shined like they were watching the world. Loving fire meant loving ash. Burning eyes and burning buildings. Singed hair, melted flesh and still hearts. It was all wrong. The cathedrals only blackened structures and humans no longer human. It was demons and fairies. It wasn't logical to remember what they were; but where was logic in a mythical place? With green grass, between oaks and the ocean. Falling like autumn leaves in spring. Dying where everything else grew. Being left alone with ashes of what once were. The sun was forever up, and the sky knew no moon.
The golden boy mourned for the skeletal, breaking bodies and the red and green and flesh.