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She always loved fire.
The blazing, vibrant colors that always seemed to melt her eyes at first touch, the warmth that granted civilization life and kicked off humanity, the safe presence it brought on those cold nights in front of the fireplace as the outside whistled within the piercing winds.
But, most importantly, fire held dances that brought human dancers to shame, for fire never had the limiting factors of the physical body.
Fascinating.
Willow would frolic in the ballroom of her late father's mansion; she'd dance like the fire that gave her a purpose, blazing the wooden floors on fire and searing the place alive. She loved to imagine her audience, vast and plentiful, all mesmerized by the charred path Willow would leave behind her incinerating footsteps.
But, oh how fast these dreams burned.
November 4, 1995
Willow had two lovely daughters who lit up her world. Evelyn and Molly. They were the center, the driving force that kept Willow alive, like the sun to her inferior planet. The family also had a fireplace- it was essential and, in fact, the primary reason why Willow had bought this house despite the peeling wallpapers and the uncanny stains that always ghosted the carpets.
One of their family nightly traditions occurred in the living room, where the family often dabbled in their respective hobbies. It was a calm, soothing environment that all three greatly enjoyed.
That day, her daughters had left for sleep; they scampered up the stairway in a giddy manner, for it was one of the rare occasions when their mother trusted them enough to take care of themselves. Said mother could be located downstairs, as she had a presentation in the morning and had to go over last-minute notes.
What she thought would be a minute turned into two hours of adjusting her words until perfection. Yawning, Willow composed herself and slumped further into the couch as she watched the fire flicker before her vision. These little things in life always brought Willow joy. The exhausted woman succumbed to the clutches of the hazy darkness called sleep, at peace and content.
She dreamed of her childhood home, of the mansion. Grand hallways that stretched on for miles in the mind of the naive child. Countless rooms that Willow never quite learned the blueprint to. But most important of all and her ultimate favorite, the ballroom that housed most of her childhood fantasies and allowed for youthful imagination. A nostalgic sense plagued Willow, for she never thought about fulfilling that dream of dance ever since her dad’s death. While her love for fire carried her through life, her passion for dance slowly melted away, until it became ashes in the far memory. Yet, a passing thought led her to wonder what happened in her life to drive her from these riches to the small two-story house that housed rats every other week.
She was wearing her outfit again: a pearl white dress with flowers intricately woven throughout the individual fibers. Because it was passed down from her grandmother’s childhood, its threads were loosened from the decades of wear. But, Willow loved it all the same, for the way it hugged so comfortably that she could forget her limiting human body ever encased her bones.
The dress only added oxygen to her fantasies and fueled her dream to dance. As Willow wove through the ballroom, she took nostalgic acknowledgment of the high ceilings intricately carved with various patterns. Each detail drove the viewers’ eyes to the singular chandelier that shone confidently in the center, eye-catching to even the most unappreciative adults. The chandelier held layers upon layers of clear crystals, cleaned a hundred times over, built on top of one another; it was tasked with catching straying eyes and had completed its duty wonderfully so. Willow remembered admiring the crystals that hung high above for hours in her adventures through the ballroom.
Dream Willow glided to a pillar, the hunger to explore her childhood setting lava in her veins. She reached out her right hand to caress the textured pillars when a shock sent her stumbling back. Her hand was transparent, veins and arteries and skin and muscle- gone. All left were her bones
.
Strangely, Willow was unfazed. It was her consciousness that informed her that this was a dream, after all, and there was nothing to be afraid of. Her bones almost blended into the background, the inside of her hand being the same color as the pillar. It was oddly artistic- a dreamstated child stripped to its foundations caressing the pillar that upheld her youth. A middle-aged woman reliving forgotten memories.
Peace.
A comforting heat plagued Willow, growing warmer and warmer in her heart. She looked down and found her body glowing, aflamed. Twas another odd phenomenon caused by her dream, she reasoned. The fire coursed through her body, the flames licking her face like a kitten. She watched as the careful fire leaked out from under her arm where flesh met bone and-
Pain exploded in her right arm.
The line between dream and reality dissipated.
She screamed, her body ignited. The surroundings became strikingly bright and destroyed her eyes. Suddenly nothing made sense. Her safe place had been endangered, screams filled her ears, she couldn't tell left from right, her contentment became fear, peace became war, everythingisburningand-
Willow woke up.
Her eyes were pried open by a force non-other than pure panic.
She recognized the screams. It was her youngest daughter. Evelyn.
Mommy! Mommy!
Mother instincts took over.
Willow jumped from the couch, blasted away by a wave of intense heat. It was similar to what she had witnessed in the dream, but oh so much more horrifying. All directions became unclear, thoughts paralyzed by the danger of the situation. The air was thick with ash- breathing felt like forcing sludge down her lungs. Sweat stuck Willow’s nightgown to her skin and she could already feel the ashes clinging to her body. But, at that moment, nothing else mattered to the mother other than her two daughters.
She frantically shoved a scarf onto her nose and mouth, springing into action. Jumping over fallen objects, avoiding the flames that had invaded the safe place called home, she rushed to the sound of the voices.
The screeches for help continued; each word was a punch to Willow's gut.
Mommy! MOMMY!
Bare feet swept on the burning floorboards, the mother running so fast she was barely touching the ground. Her terror roared in her ears, her heartbeat pounding for every step she took. The fire behind her held itself back as if amused to see such a mother be so naive to think she could save her children. It was predator and prey, cat and mouse. Cats that took up every wall that scorched her life, that teased at the sight of the cornered mouse. Fear started to set in. Willow threw herself at the door blocking the stairs and hissed as she slammed into the ignited surface, scorching her arm and sending agony through her nerves. No time to access the pain. The high-pitched howls of her daughter rang in her ears.
The distressed mother finally reached the top of the staircase to find it thickened with smoke and a sea of darkness. No sign of life. The roaring in her ears backed down, and her lungs held onto the last remaining oxygen in the house. She stopped. Only the devastating fire remained, dancing gracefully, mesmerizing, illuminating Willow’s greatest fears. Her heart ran cold despite the scorching surroundings- she was too late.
The screams had stopped.
Reality stepped in. She whipped around to face a wall of smoldering, blistering red.
Oh, how radiating fire was… how greedy fire was.
The clock struck twelve.
November 5, 1995
Flames swallowed Willow’s body whole.