Since man first discovered her, she was his greatest ally.
So important to man she is that we wonder what he did without her in the first place. How did a man keep a light in the dark? How was his food cooked? How did he keep warm at night?
Without her, it seems impossible.
Modern conveniences has made man less relient on her, true, but nonetheless there are dark times. Dark times indeed, where a man may need to light the way in front of him in order to see his next move for survival.
From the moment she appeared, she made it known she was dangerous. Fire soon became a queen, didn’t she? Through the entirety of the wondrous land, her name became associated with both fear and loathing for all the destruction she caused.
But when it came to her? Man has always been nothing more than a moth, drawn to her flame.
Elegant though she is, and though her shadow casts a remarkable figure, and though she is capable of destroying man entirely…
…She was rendered little more than a tool.
Something for man to use.
One man, a man who was black of heart, allowed another man to believe his fire belonged to him. Somehow convinced him that the fire hated him, loathed him, and only wanted to be with the other man.
He was clever, and never revealed the fire was there to reveal what he was up to in the darkness.
And it was only a matter of time before that man with the black heart, and his favorite tool, burned him.
Then he made that fire into his little, golden torchlight, and she lit the way for him all the way to the top of the food chain.
…but now he’s gone.
And what’s worse, that torch, though decorated with gold, has been left on my shores.
…and the water? Well, it’s high me hearty.
The problem with that being, water has no use for fire.
It needs not its way lit in front of it. Water follows its own path. Water has no use for such a tool, nor does it find it to be a threat. For make no mistake about it laddy. Though water may occasionally take the shape of man, its flesh can not burn nor can its bones be reduced to ashes.
For water is no man at all.
Water is fire’s only threat.
And the torch, for once, is all alone. Aint she? And the water sees her as a prize to be kept in its locker with the rest of its prizes. The gold that torch wears will break from its fashioned place and return to where all things are destined to return, right into the cold embrace of the black and deep.
Right into my waiting arms.
Of course, the fire will be extinguished.
But the gold on that torch will be well-worn, carried by the water, far beyond man and his histories.