Just for a moment, imagine plunging your fist into a raging inferno.
In an instant, the pain paralyses you for an agonising moment as your skin begins to bubble and boil, every muscle aching as waves of blistering torture flow through every fibre of your being.
You quickly pull back, rushing your hand underneath anything cool you can think of as the pain slowly subsides
But it never truly fades away, even as the festering skin heals leaving scars etched through your flesh.
An eternal reminder of the pain you believed you could endure.
Death, he leaves the same reminder when you attempt to wield his scythe.
You can beat a man half to death, he’ll recover in time. You can leave him with nothing but the shirt on his back and a world he doesn’t recognise and eventually he will find his way once more. But if you end his life, you not only erase everything he is and has been but everything he will be in the future.
Leaving the killer with a soul forever burning in a white inferno.
Ghosts of memories that never fade away, voices that haunt at every waking moment and scars that never truly heal no matter what you do.
No matter the substance you abuse and drown your mind inside.
No matter the anger and rage you burn the world through.
Because even the baddest mother fucker can’t shy away from the consequences that crossing that line delivers.
And Pamela honey, you’ve practically skipped rope with the damn thing.
Some call you the baddest bitch or the fire witch but you’ll always be the Red Queen to me.
Former royalty to a broken world that she ripped apart, millions of lives incinerated in moments all with that shit eating grin on your face.
It’s a moment you’ve never shyed away from, hell you’re damn proud of your destruction of Wonderland because to the outside world, Pyre is an ice cold motherfucker.
Someone who doesn’t give a damn about death and destruction, who will burn anyone alive without blinking an eye.
But for someone who doesn’t care about the genocide she’s commited, who’s whole mantra is kill or be killed, the death of someone you barely knew clearly cuts deep.
Was Albie that special someone, was he the husband Simon couldn’t be or is it the guilt festering inside? is it that conscience you burnt to a cinder long ago finally regenerating?
When you think of Tag snapping Albie’s neck, is it how you remember or do you imagine a scared child, whimpering before your feet before you burn her alive?
The difference between you and me Pyre, I live with those I’ve killed, acknowledge their pain and suffering and use it to fuel my every action
You’ve survived in that towering inferno for so long marching forward through pure numbing indifference but now your conscience gives you pause
And unless you can reconcile the guilt festering inside you, it’s going to consume you from within.
And that’s a fate even the Baddest Mother Fucker can’t avoid.