Ashes, Ashes

Piles of Phoenix Feathers

- c h a p t e r   s i x  -

Artist's block was certainly a real thing, Emma thought. She'd experienced it plenty of times in her life, but now she'd figured out a way to get herself through it all, at least for one day. Breaking through the wall for only a few hours was better than not at all, she decided. She refused to resort to her muse - Sherlock - in order to make something. Instead, she was going to go a very different route.

Emma still had the dress she'd worn back when she'd attempted suicide. She'd shoved it into the back of her closet for several weeks, but then she'd decided to pull it back out again. Now the bloodstained white fabric lay inside of her bathtub, and she had a matchbox in her hands.

Emma liked to think of the situation surrounding her almost as if she were a phoenix - she was being reborn, and this simple but dramatic action would be very symbolic of her bursting into flames. It was her old life being burnt up into ashes, of course, and the new her would be crawling into the world.

After striking up a match, she allowed herself to stare into the tiny flame she'd created. It fed off of the oxygen in the room, but even her slightest breath could end up putting it out. But, of course, she had plans to make it grow. She wasn't about to let this spark die any time soon.

She swallowed back any of the qualms she had left, dropped the match into the folds of tulle in the bathtub, and then immediately took several steps back. She'd been more or less expecting an enormous fireball to appear in the tub, but instead the fire gradually licked out from the spot where the match was dropped.

Soon enough, however, she'd managed to get a rather brilliant fire blazing within her bathtub. Emma stood there admiring it. She was so utterly absorbed by the gentle crackling of the flame that she didn't notice the sound of footsteps coming down towards her flat and her bathroom. The smoke that she hadn't inhaled already had been escaping from the room.

John stormed into the bathroom, nearly knocking into Emma standing in the doorway.

"Emma, what the hell are you-" John began, but he froze after setting his gaze upon the flaming dress. Then he raised his gaze to Emma herself, who was already beginning to roll her eyes. She was certain that no one would else would fully be able to understand what she was up to. Even if John was a lot more understanding than certain others, he still wasn't able to see her path of mind.

His eyes flicked between her and the flame over and over again. Despite the heat radiating off of the flame, the colour seemed to be disappearing from his cheeks. Emma immediately felt somewhat irritated with him - he was ruining this moment for her.

"Emma, what are you doing?" John asked once again, his voice far softer but more shaken than before. Emma couldn't figure out what the issue was as she ran her gaze over his face. Surely he couldn't be experiencing fear? That was the only thing coming to her head.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she replied, planting her hands on her hips.

She never ended up getting a reply out of John - he'd bolted away from the scene almost as quickly as he'd entered it. Emma didn't care all too much, mostly because it meant she could focus on the flame in front of her.

It didn't take too long before the fire had completely consumed the dress. When Emma began to get bored of the same image over and over again, she rushed forwards and turned on the shower in order to douse the flames. She was successful on the first try, much to her delight.

The remains looked bizzarre, but somehow lovely. She almost wanted to take a picture of it and attempt to paint a picture of the charred remains of the wedding dress. It reminded her of a pile of feathers that a bird had molted, which was perfect.