Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
There is a candle in the corner of the room. His eyes are slit open in the dark, adjusting, staring. Waiting. The door does not creek open.
It is dark, wax long gone and fire long burnt out. Enji is asleep, he lays with his crimson locks dancing on his pillows. His younger brother pulls his hair to the curve of his ears and pushes a little further.
Fear crawls up his spine, Mom― Mother is not here and Father wouldn't care if she was. He would tiptoe, just like they did.
He doesn't not want his older brother to get hurt (Enji has not learned to tiptoe, but it's fine, he's Mother's favourite), so the young boy, with eyes like molten gold and skin like an inferno, does not sleep. He tiptoes back to the candle. He will not rest until he can light it without scorches marring the wooden floors. So he is stronger. So he can save them.
There is a candle in the corner of the room. And it flickers alive.
Morning glances through the window with pink lips and orange eyes.
His fingertips have whispers of fire on them, they do not travel up his arms, he is safe. He is calm. They will get out.
