There was a child, quiet and small who sought love but found none at all. They searched for whispers, reached for hands, but none would clasp, none would stand.

But one dark night, with tear-stained cheeks, the child roamed through woods and streets. And there, beyond the hollow gloom, a spark had bloomed, a golden plume.

It crackled, it called, it swayed, it shone, a warmth unlike they’d ever known. The child stepped close, their fingers numb at last, they thought, love here had come.

“Come closer child” the fire sighed, “I’ll love you true, I’ll stay, I’ll guide. I will not hurt, I will not burn- just take my hand, and in return…”

The child crept close, arms stretched wide, a crumbling heart, a starry-eyed gaze. The embers hissed, the cinders burned, yet still, for warmth, the child returned.

Flames kissed their skin, the pain was deep, a searing touch that made them weep. But love should hurt, love should sear- at least that’s what they longed to hear.

Then from the sky, cool droplets fell, a whisper soft, a distant knell. Water wept and reached below, “Come, dear child, let go, let go.”

“That isn’t love, those flames deceive, they burn, they take, they will not leave. I’ll hold you close, I’ll soothe the ache. Please just step away before you break.”

But fire roared and flames grew tall, “Don’t listen child! I am your all! They’ll smother us. They’ll drown my light. But I will burn with you each night.”

The child, in tears, smoke and pain, still clung to fire, called it’s name. “It loves me true, it holds me tight. It’s touch may hurt but thats alright.”

But the fire is hunger, never fulfilled. It does not love it only kills. It’s golden arms became a cage, its warmth turned into a scorching rage.

The child cried out, their breath grew thin as fire gnawed through bone and skin. “You promised me! You swore, you lied!” the child cried as the fire turned a blind eye.

They reached for water, weak, afraid, but love ignored will drift away. The flames consumed, they pulled, they tore until the child was no more.

And when the fires feast was done, it flickered, outshone the sun. It did not mourn, it did not weep. It only swayed, in silence deep.

“I did not harm!” the fire declared. “I only gave it what it had dared. They sought my touch, they asked for more. What blame have I for what they bore?”

The wind sighed soft, the ashes fell. The earth stood still, too burned to tell. The embers lay, waiting for love to come their way.

The earth now beneath the fires feet once soft and fertile, now felt weak. The roots that once held firm and deep, now struggled, shrivelled up, too scorched to keep.

In the sky, the stars grew dim, as though they too had seen the sin. The moon once bright now hid it’s face, as if it could not bear the disgrace.

The child’s cries had died, erased, but the fire did not slow it’s chase. It had not learned the cost of love, it’s hunger only knew to shove.

In the smouldered ash it stayed, a creature hungry, unafraid. It did not mourn, it did not care. Its flame would flicker anywhere.