Cordelia POV about Xander, post-Lover's Walk. Originally for the Open on Sunday prompt "fire," but I missed the cutoff by a few weeks, and wanted to write one anyways.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I don't profit from this piece of fanfiction. A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend.
He deserves to burn. He deserves to ache and throb and hurt like she does, like he's burning alive. He deserves suffering, feeling his whole damn heart being ripped out and used as an ashtray. He deserves searing, gut-wrenching agony; with each movement the blaze of ripped stitches from rust-red rebars. He deserves to be consumed by fiery, unquenchable pain until he burns, all red-hot flames and suffocating smoke and excruciatingly pure white ashes, before he blazes out, and everything's cold and dead.
She can't make him burn.
Instead, she cuts up all his pictures and burns them to ash.
fin.