Her Soul Is Fire

Veronika Balasyuk

Have you ever watched a campfire? The beautiful reddish-orange flames that burn on a cold night, the warm glow it radiates, enveloping you in a sense of security. It is a mesmerizing spectacle to behold, the embers dancing in the air in a routine choreographed by the elements. The flames swaying in the breeze to music only it can hear, the crackling that makes the eerie silence comfortable.

There is something oddly reassuring about this fire on such a night, its warmth shielding you from the cold as its light drives away the darkness. Aware as you are of its warmth and glow, so are you aware of how formidable it can be. An ill-timed prod, a misplaced nudge, a careless decision or a threatening wind and this pit of warmth and light escalates into a wildfire, wreaking havoc in an all-consuming manner.

Her soul is this fire, warm with a comforting glow yet formidable, fire that was once the pride of the gods, stolen from them for man.

She is the flame that warms the cold nights and brings light to the dark passages.

She is the fire that boils the kettle and she is the flame that scorches careless fingers. She is the heat that has cast the armor and she is the flame that has forged the sword. She lights up the doors to heaven, dancing on the lamps that line its gates. She is the heat from the blazing inferno, burning from the pits of hell. She is the light at the end of the tunnel, the beacon for ships lost at sea. She is the blaze that drives the beasts away, the ray of light killing monsters that lurk in the dark.

Like fire, she is unpredictable. Like fire, she is not meant to be tamed.

Like fire she gives, and like fire she can incinerate.

And although her soul glows with the light of the sun and the stars, there are times she finds herself struggling to burn. She finds herself at the mercy of the wind, a strong gust that threatens to snub her flame or a careless hand looking to dim her glow. Times like this she needs to breathe, remind her to do so because fire needs to breathe. The smallest sparks can grow into the most beautiful flame if only she remembers to breathe. Let her breathe and watch as the tired embers of her soul grow into a flame that will warm your heart and light up your soul. Let her breathe and watch as a dimming glow turns into a roaring fire that commands respect. Let her breathe and watch her beautiful light chase the dark away.

She may be the candle struggling to burn on a windy night, she may be the warmth of the hearth turning your house into a home. She may be the flame dancing gracefully on a cold night or she may be the blaze that reminds you fire is not be played with.

Whatever she is or whatever she hopes to be, her soul has been, and will always be, fire. TC mark

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