Did I intend to post two pieces about love and fire in a row?

Not really.

Is this kinda a sad story for the holiday? Even though it does have to do with love and angst and all the things we love?

Most definitely.

Did I have a lot of fun writing this?

… absolutely.

This is Ashes, a short story with both Victor and Anala’s POV’s. Anala has an accident among the flames…

We start with Anala, and then move into Victor.

And while I don’t think this is canon… we shall see.

Word Count: 800

Content Warnings: Fire, burns, angst.

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~ Anala ~

My world is burning.

My world is falling.

My world is ringing.

My eyes flutter open. My world is spinning before me. Heat surrounding me, in big, blue blooms and wisps of orange and red and yellow and pink.

Pink, at the edge of my vision. At the edges of my conscious.

I can smell it. The spray, I put on my hair, to keep it from burning.

I can feel flickering pain at the edges of my scalp, much hotter than it should be.

Burning roses.

My chest is burning, with smoke searing in my throat.

I open my mouth, gasping down a breath, as my gaze rises to the sky.

Blue. With flakes of white ash and sparkling silver stars.

White flashing at my vision as pain creeps up my leg.

I try to speak, but my throat is clogged with smoke.

I didn’t want this to happen. Not like this.

I didn’t see it. When I first lit the match. When I tossed gasoline all over the building, and threw the match down. Heart pounding in glorious time with my footsteps as I raced down the stairs, flames roaring to life behind me. I didn’t know—how could I have known—that the stairs would give out?

The breath whooshed out of me as quickly as the flames rose in my eyes.

Everything cracks.

Glee spiraled into white hot pain.

Before my world faded into a cloud of black smoke. 

And now. Laying on ashes. Nothing hurts, anymore.

This feels so much slower.

So much…. better.

I hadn’t expected to die in a blur of flames, but it was better than alternatives… dying in a bloom of life and pure freedom. Ironic, sure, for the arsonist to die in her own trap, but… so fitting. For a rose to die in her final blaze.

My eyes fluttered shut.

I wished I had at least got a chance to tell them.

Tell him I loved him.

Tell her to keep going.

Tell my sweet soul to not forget me and to live life better than I had.

To hug my mother, one last time.

Maybe hugging my sister—finally—would make up for all those lost last memories.

A smile tugs at my cracked lips, as I exhale, letting the heat take me…

———

~ Victor ~

The world is burning.

The world is all ashes and roaring flames.

My world has been reduced to a single, blinking red dot on a screen.

Blinking, faster and faster.

“Anala!” I shout, pulling a mask over my mouth and nose, sucking in a dry breath.

My world is reduced to billows of smoke, as I tear through the crumbled, scorching remains of the building. Large metal pillars, blackened to melting crisps. Piles and piles of ash, blanketing the ground. Shimmers of silver—I crouch down, brushing a glimmer off with a gloved hand, picking up the piece.

A broken, silver chain.

I tense, shoving the piece into my pocket, picking my way down a series of jagged metal beams laid out in the shape of a staircase support. Don’t let this be it—don’t let this be where she lies forever. Not yet.

I don’t know who I’m talking to. The flames, perhaps. Anyone, anything that’ll listen.

“Anala? Are you in here?” I shout. Eyes stinging hot tears in the smoke, squinting to see anything—

I stop at one of the beams. Studying the one before me. Cracked. Melted at the ends. Crackles of hot flames and sparks, on lingering bits of hard wood.

My gaze drops.

And there she is.

In a blaze of flickering pink hair, and red stains, and black. Laid out in a blanket of grey ash. A large beam pinned over her chest, her leg.

My chest cracks. My world pinned.

“Anala.” I breathe. In an instant—swinging down the beam, dropping in a cloud of burning ashes to the ground, swiping hot tears and sparkling ashes from my eyes—I scramble over to her, heaving the beam off her chest.

There’s too many holes.

Peeling holes.

Holes with burning, crisp red edges.

Holes in her clothes. Holes on her skin—

“Anala?” I whisper, patting off the flames from her clothes, pulling her up into my arms.

Breathe. Live. For me.

Please.

Her chest flutters, and she lets out a faint, harsh cough, her head lolling back against my chest. I hold her close, swallowing hard, then scooping her up, staggering on the ash for a moment, then away. Padding through the blankets of grey, away from the heat, and the pain. And the flames, once her friend. Devouring her…

Her chest flutters again.

Her eyes, open, just a bit.

And she whispers, light as the stars.

“I’m sorry. I love you.”