"I would burn like so much paper if you brought that too near," the Sea-Hag offers wryly. "Paper dried out over fire, roasted to crackling, ready to be consumed. I'd be dead in a moment, ash in a few more. Would float on the waters and skim through the air and be lodged in the dirt of the earth, all for a tiny little flame."
"That's amazing," Clarabelle says distantly, staring still at the flickering light of the candle, and it shines hollowly in the dark of her eyes where they give way to emptiness. "Really a moment?"
"Really a moment," the Sea-Hag confirms. "I'd be safe if I hid from you, for a given value of safe, if I stayed in the depths. The fire could never reach into them. But no matter how soon I had been in the water, no matter how drenched my being, if I were to surface, I would be nothing."
"It's a good thing I don't want you to burn, then," Clarabelle says thoughtfully. "That would be inconvenient, if you had to hide."
"I could never hide from you," the Sea-Hag answers. "I'd surface and burn for you in an instant. Every time."
A/N: And, uh, this counts as a Christmas-y one because the candle in question's an advent candle Clarabelle's stolen from the Sanctuary because she hates the institution that is Christianity and she thought this would be a nice re-purposing.
~Mademise Morte, December 2, 2012.