Ashes, Ashes

Long ago, in a gap where a world should be, there was no light nor dark, cold nor hot, there were only ashes, from the world that had burned down before.

Cendrillon hated fire, ever since she was little, it had frightened her to no end, it was strange, and disappointing, considering she could control and conjure it, such a disappointment, that her mother, still a young girl of seventeen, walked straight into one, young Cendrillon in arms, with no intentions of walking back out, but where light can't shine, shadows thrive, and when fires die, ashes are left behind, and nothing was found of the young lady and younger girl, except from a finger bone, ash grey, and still warm from the flames that once licked at it. A finger bone that would come to create and destroy worlds, leaving only ashes where they once lay.