Fire: hot, flame-damned and incandescent, hell-like in ferocity and aspect, it consumed all within its path. Contained, it served no-one, save irrepressible hunger. The rocks and brick that formed its prison were merely a minor inconvenience in the devouring conquest that was its life, and it would cunningly, greedily lick the hand that fed it combustible morsels at every opportunity.
Eustace stared at the flame-bright heart, before placing his offering deep into the near-molten core, plunging his stick in, though his hand burned and hair singed. He whimpered in pain: such was the ritual.
“Anyone else want a marshmallow?”
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This is my cheeky, pseudo-goth take on the above picture. I’m back at work full-time again, so it’s back to snatching moments when I can sit at the laptop and get creative!