1. you were told once that you can endure what is forced on you and give as well as you take. you are just as dangerous when you are in a good mood, laughing at those who would have your head, as you are when you are furious, manning the guillotine with a sharp smile and a snarl.
2. fire and ice clash in your veins and you square your jaw, expression inscrutable. terrified whispers trail behind you. something about disaster. something about temper. something about endlessness. something about inevitability.
3. you ask, once, what it means to be infinite, and they flinch and mumble catastrophe and death and fog, and you know they do not understand. there is power in you that could rend time and destroy galaxies and crumble planets and turn civilizations to dust. the anger you contain behind your perfectly symmetrical face could level the universe.
4. in the end, they are wrong. you are not infinite. your temper is not inevitable, waiting to escape like mist in a bottle. power crackles inside you like lightning, quick and unpredictable and beautifully terrifying.
5. the light you contain suits you better than the smoke you are served in a crystal wineglass. you salute the skeptics and toast to the believers and drink a cocktail of stars and dust, truth and lies. you are not infinite. you are catastrophic. you are catastrophic.