Flames of Solitude - Volume 1
10|| Princess of Fire

The fire danced around her, resembling birds with fiery wings, fluttering in the cold cellar. Serpents of fire writhed on her skin, consuming the last pieces of fabric on her body.

Their master required no earthly materials; soon, she adorned herself in a red dress, a fitting attire for her newfound status. Jessica twirled in her fiery clothes, each movement sending sparks flying into the air. The cellar’s temperature, once dominated by cold, retreated toward its corners and walls, waging a desperate battle.

But Jessica’s flames were relentless; they pursued the chill, crept up the walls that had long been frozen, walls that had absorbed the young girl’s cries and tears. These walls had to fall!

Flames of solitude, sealed and confined, crackled in the presence of their master. They sent sparks flying, a desperate attempt to bring down the stone walls. The sparks collided with the stone, vanishing, only to be replaced by more.

“Hahahaha.”

Amidst the crackling and creaking, laughter emerged. Jessica’s eyes remained closed as she danced with joy. She found countless friends, loyal companions who would never abandon her, always there to surround her when she felt alone. Warmth coursed through her veins, spreading throughout her body.

She stretched her arms to the sides like an angel unfurling its powerful wings to captivate mortals. Behind her, the flames heeded their master’s desires. They would scorch loneliness, incinerate solitude, extinguish the need for anyone else but them — her devoted soldiers.

Feathers of fire converged to form wings, unfurling behind the outstretched arms of the young girl.

As though a devil had taken residence within the guise of an innocent girl, she stood there, a looming shadow of menace.

The flames crackled, as if reveling in the presence of this entity, their dance intensifying. From flickering around on the floor, they climbed the walls, engulfing the ceiling and leaping into the air.

These sons and daughters of fire turned the cellar into their playground, soon finding a box full of Melody’s toys — setting them ablaze — an old wooden bike — reducing it to ash — and a table with a broken leg — they devoured it.

One of the boxes contained an array of books, filled with tales of heroes, gods, princesses, legends, and myths. The flames consumed these stories, devouring each word as if mocking their content, sending plumes of black smoke into the air. Their beloved master had no need for such tales — not the gods in the heavens, the mighty heroes, nor the beautiful princesses — all reduced to nothing more than ashes in her eyes.

If she wished, they would create a new narrative, one featuring a princess and her flames reigning in a world of ash. Nothing else mattered, and so everything within the cellar succumbed to the blaze.

Yet, it was far from enough! The flames multiplied without end, overtaking the entire room. However, the confines of the cellar could not satisfy their insatiable hunger. They craved more, and that’s when they discovered the stairs. Gleefully, they ascended one step at a time, approaching the cellar door.

The door had been an impregnable fortress, imprisoning the young girl, a gate that kept her in the depths of hell. She, a devil, was denied access to the sky; she, a monster, was condemned to remain buried underground. Heaven was not a place meant for her.

The flames crawled up the door, their fury unrelenting. How dare it stand in the way of their master’s freedom? How dare it confine her? The door cried out in agony, yielding beneath the inexorable onslaught. If heaven would not accept her presence, they would set it ablaze, dissipate the clouds, consume everything in their path, and claim their own personal heaven.

The flames, liberated from their prison, discovered a newfound source of delight — an empty house. They frolicked and played, their fiery tendrils dancing wildly with their newfound toys. Smoke billowed from the empty spaces, forming a rising, dark cloud that poured out from the windows.

With a resounding crack, a portion of the house crumbled, its wooden structure unable to withstand the fury of the fire. But the house was merely the beginning; like a wildfire, the flames spread to neighboring structures, leaping from wall to wall, their sparks igniting all that was combustible.

Screams of terror echoed through the small village as the fire consumed homes in its unstoppable march. Villagers desperately tried to escape the encroaching inferno, with some managing to flee to safety, while others met a horrific fate – either burned alive or fortunate enough to succumb to the black and choking smoke. A thick, acrid smell was their final sensation before they crumpled to the ground. There, during the chaos, the flames devoured them like ravenous scavengers.

Amidst the horror, a sickeningly sweet and foul gas mingled with the acrid scent of burning wood, suffusing the air as more and more human lives were claimed by the blaze. The fire showed no mercy; it cared not whether its victims were animate, or inanimate, large, or small, young, or old. It devoured everything in its path, fueling its army of rage.

Four figures stood at the entrance of the village; their somber silhouettes cast against the backdrop of a raging inferno. Two grown men observed the relentless blaze, while a distraught woman knelt on the ground, weeping inconsolably. Beside her, a small girl clung to her, wide-eyed and trembling.

“This seems like more than just a mere accident,” one of the men said.

The other nodded gravely. “Indeed. It’s fortunate you decided to accompany us, sir Morend. Without your guidance, I’d be at a loss.”

Morend lit a prepared cigar and took a contemplative puff. White smoke wafted from his nostrils as he surveyed the chaotic scene.

“Hmm. Luck had little to do with it. I was just bored out of my wits,” he retorted, shifting his gaze back to the village. “This looks like nothing more than a troublesome headache. The fire should have already alerted neighboring villages. Take charge of the guards and douse the flames. Pay no heed to the fleeing residents; prioritize those trapped within this hell. Everyone still alive should help too.”

"Yes sir!"

His attention then turned to the weeping woman and her daughter. “Where was your house again?” Morend inquired.

Meren struggled to regain her composure before answering, her voice quivering. “It is at the center… northwest of the church,” she explained amidst sniffles. “The fifth house from there.”

“Good,” Morend acknowledged tersely.

Without uttering another word, Morend ventured further into the chaos, his calm, and measured steps in stark contrast to the pandemonium around him. Under different circumstances, he might have seemed like an ordinary visitor leisurely strolling through the village, but the air of fearlessness about him was unmistakable.

As he reached the remnants of the once-holy church, Morend encountered a grim sight – a sacred ruin that barely retained its former glory, with a charred corpse sprawled before it, half of its white and black robe slowly succumbing to the encroaching flames.

“In your next life, you may find gratitude in the Lord’s grace,” Morend mused aloud, his tone dripping with a sardonic bitterness. “That is if your mind doesn’t crumble before then.”

He quickened his pace, eager to put this grim scene behind him. Leaving the burnt church and the lifeless priest in his wake, Morend found himself amidst a nightmarish tableau of screams, with people aflame, their clothing and flesh ignited, writhing in agony, rolling on the ground, or fleeing aimlessly. The anguished cries of dying animals reverberated in the inferno, a symphony of suffering.

Morend pressed on, unperturbed. Arriving at what seemed to be the fifth house, he stared at what remained – a haphazard jumble of charred wood and fragments of scaffold. A desolate landscape met his eyes, with neighboring houses sharing the same fiery fate.

“Where to even begin? They all look the same,” he muttered to himself, his gaze scanning the indistinguishable ruins around him. Flicking the last remnants of his shortened cigar into the flames, he grumbled, “Annoying.” His words drowning in the crackling inferno.

The temperature surged as he drew closer to the scorched ruin, the air growing dry and suffocating. Surveying his surroundings, Morend spotted a set of stairs leading downwards. Instantly, he recognized that he had found what he sought – a passage not to a mere basement, but something more akin to hell itself.

Fiery appendages, serpentine flames, and countless sparks emerged from the cellar, painting a surreal and otherworldly picture. He sighed, realizing there was no turning back now.

With resolute determination, Morend descended the staircase, and as if fearing him, the flames began to retreat. Walking through the heart of the fiery maelstrom, he seemed to be the fire’s nemesis.

Fiery tendrils lunged at him, sparks ignited around him, and smoke sought to choke him, yet every attempt of nature to extinguish this intruder was in vain. It was as if an invisible dome encased him, shielding Morend from harm. The blaze couldn’t even singe the clothes he wore, and the smoke swirled around him but failed to infiltrate his lungs.

Reaching into his pockets, Morend produced another cigar. Nonchalantly, he extended his hand and used the surrounding fire to ignite it. The very flames that had snuffed out numerous lives, razed buildings in mere minutes, and would haunt the villagers’ dreams forever, now served as nothing more than a lighter for Morend’s cigar.

His journey led him to the focal point of this mission – a young girl, sleeping serenely amidst the protective embrace of the flames. They adorned her like a living gown, flowing with every rise and fall of her chest. This image was so paradoxical, but it was not enough to elicit a twitch in Morend’s face, because what he had seen so far was even more unfathomable.

Bending his body, he reached for Jessica. The flames surrounding her intensified as if making a final stand before succumbing to Morend’s touch. Gently, he slid his arms beneath her legs and back, lifting her with the ease of someone handling a slumbering princess.

A Princess of Fire.

End of Volume 1 – Princess of Fire

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