The Flame

In old times, there were men who, in their folly, sought immortality. But the gods are jealous, and their gifts are often twisted. The candle lights the eyes with a ghostly glow that accompanies the choking stench of incense. The thought is, the finer the quality of the incense, the more holy the place becomes. That one can smell the scent of the gods in the form of fragrance is, to worshippers of the modern age, only one example of one of those quaint superstitions of their ancestors. The flames roar, filling the room; filling her ears with the roaring of waves in long lost memories. This is the sound of endless waves lapping against the shores. The candle's flames glow like the sun, but in a hallucinatory intensity. It is as if she is the center of this fiery light. The man sits beside the woman, watching the streams of flame as they reach upward into a transcendent light. With no words, the man approaches the flame and stares into the display of hypnotic fire. The goddesses of old raved about their majesty and too many male gods were lost to the allure… or perhaps they were not lost at all, but subsumed, or even enslaved to the powers of the sun. In her hands, the woman holds a small heart-shaped locket, and the flames bring her an illusion of her reflection.

In the background, the candle's dust dances about in the dying embers of fire. She does not flinch with the heat and does not move away, but stands beside the man, staring into his mind. The light of the fireplace illuminates her frame, displaying her beauty like a goddess of the old world. Her eyes are like the paintings within the ancient vaults, filled to the brim with the wisdom of the ages and knowledge of the world beyond. Her lips are like the gold of an ancient coin, soft while maintaining a cold perfection. Her hair glows like the luminance of a shining star. She looks to the man, and to her surprise, he is admiring her. As if in a trance, she speaks no words, but only she and the man can hear her words when she whispers to him in her mind, that he is beautiful. The man reaches out for the woman, and looks back to the fire, palms up. For some strange reason, the woman feels ill. Her own eyes, her own reflection have turned against her. The man looks suddenly uncomfortable, and his gaze drops to the floor. In a glance, he notices a heart shaped locket, the girl let slip from her fingertips, has fallen to the floor. Without hesitation, he slowly bends down to pick it up, never losing sight of her image. As he picks it up, a chilly gust of wind blows, rattling the candle flames before them. The woman looks at him, disheartened and bewildered as if she knew what was about to transpire. The man proceeds to open the locket, and with all her might, the woman ghastly yells out “DON’T”, but she feared she was too late. The locket opens, and out of it springs a bright while light. The light fills the room for what feels like an eternity, to the man. He quickly covers his eyes, still reaching for the woman in hopes of protecting her. The wind howls again more vigorously this time, wafting the candle flame to blow out. The air fills up with the remaining smoke and dust of the candle once burning. The man cautiously opens his eyes, trying to regain his focus back on the beauty of the girl. He swiftly pulls his hands away from his face and finds both the woman and the heart shaped locket gone.