The fire that crackled and burnt, looked pretty, like the ones she doodled while passing time, sitting through lectures on religious study .
This one too had the shades which she used to paint her flame; from the dark orange fringes which faded to the colour of tuscan sun and then the pearl white of the hottest core.
Watching its dance filled her with a longing to hold it in her palm, and bend it to her will. She wanted the power to grow it to an inferno or shrink it to the flicker of a lit match.
Fire was her obsession.