Goddess of Fire

From the black of the world and the shade, Ishtar appeared. Silence ran across the grounds as every heart spilled open, eyes drinking in the last of the ephemeral beauty. Death had its toll on her, and yet she was no less striking than her final hours. She stretched her hand out, softly and sweetly, and opened her fingers to lick the air; from one of them, a cherry fire broke out, lighting the world in blushing tones. It was low and hushed, flickering languidly until she brought it to her lips. Her lips, red as a sunset, red as strawberries. A gentle kiss snuffed the burn out and brought black to the field again.
The dark was broken into shards by the icy, rosy glow again, this time running through the last man's chest like a bullet aflame.

Then the blaze began. The shot had rang out, and his chest was flaring with a plume of pure carmine flame when it raged, tearing through him and carving a hole through the ground beneath him and the skies above. The moon caught the light of it and became bloodshot, a single drop of blood against the violet canvas that was the night. As the fires died, so did the stars.

The End

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