In the firelight, her porcelain face was a mask of
shifting shadows. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her fingers were
clenched so tight she dug furrows in her long skirt. Her eyes that had been so
dazzlingly open before were hard now, focused, sharp as a blade as she stared
at the flames. In some long, forgotten part of his soul, he dredged up sympathy
for her.
“They don’t like the fire, do they?” she asked.
“No. Some even less than others.”
“Good.” He might have seen a tear glistening crystal
on her cheek, but she dashed it away. “I’ve decided I love fire.”
Very intriguing. Makes me want to read more.
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