That memory is imprinted on her, much like a scar that fire carves deeply, without mercy, on the skin. It was the shortest ride, followed by the quickest embrace, then a snap of a door closing and she was suddenly half a breath away from never again.
How long is a snap?
It’s one kiss shy of a second, a fraction of a time fragment which carries an eternity of hell. She was not chosen. So she chose, in her grief, this irreparable disfigurement, this twisted, dried, hollowed-out, deformed, ugly mutation for a heart. She embraced the fire which opened her chest and tied her heart to a stake that was already buried there.
She allowed the fire to run through her in agonizing fury. It burned for imagined crimes, it burned for unmade memories, it burned for centuries.