Riza loved fire. She always has. The light, the bright intensity of what lives but not breathes. Its ability to dance before he eyes amazed her. She loved it. Maybe that's what drove her to set fire to her own house. So it would entertain her for one last time.
With only the clothing on her back she watched as memories of her youth flashed by dancing, dying in the heat of the flame. She promised herself she wouldn't regret this. .
When news came in that her brother's troop had been massacred she didn't cry. She promised herself she wouldn't. All she wanted was a new life, to be reborn again. You can't have a new life with out giving up your old one though. So here she is, standing in front of the fire that is destroying the remains of her old life, and the fire that gives birth to her new life.
Red is a beautiful color. The color of life is a beautiful color. The color of death is a beautiful color.