Leo secretly hated himself since eight. The day he killed his own mother. People told him it's not his fault. Not at all. But he knew. He knew.
He was the one who set the fire. He should have took on responsibility. He tried telling people of the Dirt Queen. No one cared, and those who tried believed he was insane, paranoid, crazy. Who wouldn't be, they say, a boy, barely eight, lost his mother at this young age. He was ridden with guilt. But he didn't know what was in store for him. His own curse, that he had to bear with him. The fate that he will kill, by fire, anyone who took him in, cared for him, and he got attached to them. His hands would grow warmer for a few days, just enough to warn him of what to come and let him pack his bags, and leave. He refused to say he ran away, as he was determined to protect who he loved. Of course during the first few times, he was unaware about his curse. Then, slowly, he realised. Then hee started pulling away from people, afraid that he would accidentally harm them, or worse, kill them.
He just wanted to stop.
Stop everything.
Stopping people calling him an arsonist. Because wherever he goes, things get burned down.
He wanted to stop.
Stop everything.
He hated his fire. He wants to stop being able to control fire. A deadly element. He, himself, is a professional killing machine. Destructive. Painful. Hurts.
He tried burning himself, but it didn't work. And he thinks that he has to die the same way he murdered people - by fire. He waited for the fire that is stronger than him, and consume him.