They were the match, she was the flame; and love was what burned. Hope was what turned to ash. As time passed, she changed. The world she once saw was no more. Instead of a beautiful world of wander and magic, all she saw was grey and red and anger and pain.
Her past was sad. Not the sad of blue, or the sad of grey; her's was the sad of red. Red of anger and of blood, and of passion and of love. Her emotions were red like angry, raging flames burning across a pure white canvas. Her wounds were deep, but they bled deep within her. Her wounds were of both flesh and mind, and they burned like the wild flames of ire. And yet, from the deepest depths of hell, she rose. Like a Phoenix being reborn from flames long past and ashes gone cold. The flames melted away her regret and sadness, consuming her mind with only anger and a lust for the blood of those who hurt her. With the flames in her palm, nothing will deter her from her goal of revenge; except for him. He was the silence she craved in a world of chaos. He was the moon's dark comet and he snuffed out the fires of her rage. For the accumulated sins of our kind, she had been unleashed, and only he could cage the beast.