She watched the smoke rising, feeling its heat. It was not a comforting kind of heat, rather one that left her sweating and uncomfortable, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. She braced herself for the flames, but did not move.
He sat perfectly still, feeling warmer and warmer but not knowing what to do. He thought of the mark on his arm, the burning pain that uttered not a single flame. He thought of the scar, the memory, etched deep into his skin, not always visible but burning bright in his mind.
She studied his eyes, saw the tears he refused to shed. Though he pretended to be, he was not completely devoid of emotion. There was some flickering light within him; whether of hope or defeat, she could not tell.
He thought of ashes that stained everything in its path. He couldn't take his mind off a beautiful, white flower, one so pure but blackened by a new truth. That flower meant death.
She waited for him to speak. She wouldn't believe that they would let this tiny flame burn on, until it was a fire they could no longer control. She tried to extinguish the fire, wondering if she was already burned.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
She watched his life go up in flames.