Bloodfire

Clutching - clasping - grasping and thrawn come fingers of fire feeble from their tombs of ash and soot. Cold is the world; lost and lonely, yet even when wreathed in shade, bright flared the flame of hatred; fierce burns still, the fire of fury. Deadly comes the inferno of hate; a tempest starbright, striding malevolent amid its coronal storm. Of all fires hate, and hate alone, is the only which neither man nor god can ever slay. It is a fearsome thing; a malign immortal which knows no bane.