In my opinion, fire is the single most beautiful and wild of the elements. Even while contained at the tip of a waxen pillar, it dances with a fierce joy that none can take from it.

But fire can kill.

I've seen the devastation that a tiny spark can cause. I worked as a volunteer fireman for a few years before my knee was badly injured. But this-I had never seen such a violent sheet of pure chaos as that which poured from the windows of the apartment building. I stood, face turned upwards, gazing in abject horror at the conflagration above me.

A keening, barely-human wail ripped me from my morbid fascination with the fire's dance of death. To the side of the road, just behind the bright fire trucks lay a woman dressed in black. Or she may have been wearing colors, which had been charred by the flames. No one else seemed to notice her; I supposed that the fire preoccupied them. For a brief moment, her image flickered, as if she was a mirage.

I doubted the ability of a mirage to display such obvious agony as the poor woman. I hurried to her side, and knelt by her. She seemed solid enough to my eyes, I was careful not to touch her for fear of bringing her even more pain. I could not see her face, as it was turned towards the ground and hid by the black veil of her hair. Another weird cry escaped her lips as I knelt beside her.

I whispered words of encouragement to her, one hand hovering over her back, close enough to give reassurance but not touching. Her quick, hurried breathing slowed to a normal pace quite suddenly, and she turned herself to look at me.

I do not perceive myself as a master judge of beauty, but this woman had the grace of Grecian sculpture. Even lying on the sidewalk of downtown Arcadia, she radiated a sense of royalty and class. Her eyes were a deep midnight blue, almost black. For a brief moment it appeared that she had slit pupils, like those of a cat or a snake, but I decided that this was an illusion.

I gazed into her eyes for a long moment, neither of us uttering a word.

"Thank you."

That voice! It sent shivers down my spine, and then lower. Soft and rich, her voice was the single most enticing part about her. Had she not been in such distress, I might have been entertaining MUCH different thoughts about her than I had been at the time.

"Don't mention it." I heard myself say. No! No, you fool! I berated myself savagely. Those are the wrong words to use here! You haven't even DONE anything!

"No, one good turn deserves another, correct?" The beauty stood, her fantastic eyes drowning out any memory of the fire, or her strange wailing from my mind. "I shall repay you, sir."

I suppose she walked away then, I don't remember seeing her go. All I remember is returning to my apartment, and turning on the news, which, for some reason, did not mention the terrible fire at all.

Authors Note: I stole "Arcadia" from Twilight Moon. Hope he doesn't sue me.