Iced stuff over the fires that could have burnt anything but this. The contrast, miraculous. To see her fight to not fall into this love. No, any one but this one. For though surely it’s flames would melt her away into ecstasy if she gave into it. There would be nothing left of her—or him, for that matter. A love that destroys, and means to destroy. A building up that tears down. A creative destruction. A melting burning.