The land was empty and flat, hard-baked and ending in a sheer drop that disappeared out of sight. A dead, grey skeleton of a tree clung to the edge of the precipice, choked by a twisting vine of morning glory. Some of the roots were bared where time had worn away at the cliff side. Sunlight shined on the rainbow hued blossoms, highlighting an iridescent sheen. A heady perfume from the flowers, thick enough to taste, masked the scent of the tree’s decay. A slightly warm and pleasant wind gently ruffled the delicate petals. All was silent save for the gentle whisper of the breeze.
From the canyon a roar of fire blared, splashing the undersides of the blossoms and the bare branches a ruddy orange for a brief moment before subsiding. Then all was as before, except for the ashes floating on the wind and the scent of something burning that overpowered even the flowers’ musk, relegating it to a faint aftertaste.
Bare feet trembled forward. A single bright red-orange blossom broke loose and danced on the wind, alighting on a white fold in the fabric of the maiden’s train. A soft, pale hand retrieved the memento, tucking it securely in plaited ebony hair. The flower’s heart was blue, like a flame.
Listening to: Xmen
Reading: Persuasion by Jane Austen