Your mother warned you of fires. She constantly reminds you of the time you were five and touched the stovetop claiming the colours drew you in. Maybe it was the warmth the dragon's stomach emitted, you have never felt such a warmth. Not from your fathers embrace or the lips of your first love.
She warns you, says the boy with ember eyes will destroy you in the end. He's awoken something in you that's been asleep for quite some time. That smothered flame in the pit of your chest. You wake up coughing ashes and his calm voice is a cool stream at 11:00pm when the sky is dark as coals.
"Never play with fire" she warns you as you dangle a math between two shaking fingers.
I'm fire-proof. I'm fire-proof. I'm fire-proof.
You almost believe it. Gasoline coats the floor in a puddle of his reflection. One slip, one misplaced finger and we all goes down in flames.
You've drowned in his kerosine eyes and there are burn marks to prove it. His touch sinks into your flesh like a third degree burn.
x
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