I glided towards her, a willing puppet, to the flutters of her flaming lashes. On how she danced ; and in her wrap of glowing yellow, cajoled. How could I resist? How could I refuse her arms caressing my wings, consuming them, leaving nothing but burning ashes.
That moment then, was what,, I'd always imagined it would be. A moment that belonged only to us. Every inch of my body was for her to do as she pleased , and once she was done with that, every inch of my soul.
The world writs tales of how I rushed to my death. But if you watch carefully, very carefully, you might just see the flames turn orange, with a fiery flutter, and you will know then, that to be reborn, you must first die.