Hellflame

A match's fire is short-lived. It bursts to life with an unpleasant, sulferous scent. It dies out with the weakest wind, or the moment it finishes burning through the match it was born on. The fire offers very little actual light... but it can sacrifice its self to start up a larger, more long-lasting fire. That fire is the one that gives warmth, offers safety, and gives guidance by light. An open campfire, torch light, a fireplace during winter. When broken or let out of containment, though, they grow. They burn fiercer, brighter, and hotter than they could in captivity. It happens quickly. The flames would flicker with a newer, brighter heat, enveloping its path and leaving behind little more than ashes to find.
There's a fire in everyone, if even just a spark at first or forever. What kind of fire they turn out to be, however, is up to them. To each person, their own fire. To each, their own spirit, their own soul.
Me? I'm... odd, I suppose. Even I can't quite predict my own fire. I, Elanor Ashmen, do not understand my own fire. Nor do I try to restrain it or sic it on others. I let it be...
But that'll be for another time, though. This is what happened when my own wildfire was intermingled with a hellflame.