My first story that I have actually finished and published. I kept trying to do longer things, and I kept hitting blocks. Hopefully this style will work better for me. Any advice, criticism, input, or kind words would be greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy the story!
Everyone loved her. It was the fire inside her that did it. Sure, she was beautiful- she had Veela in her blood after all. And sure, the boys lusted after her. But the boys also loved her. Because she had that fire. She was full of a burning passion and love for all things. Her family, painting, charms, flowers, stars, hearts over “i”s. Everything. And it was infectious really. When someone was around Dominique, they couldn’t help but be happy. Because she was so happy for them, so passionate about what they were passionate about, and so free with her love. Her fire would shoot sparks and light the world around her.
And those boys who lusted after her and loved her? Well she broke their hearts. They couldn’t help but love her and she couldn’t help but say no to them. But she lit a spark in them that they never knew they had and they were thankful for it. And then one day she met a boy. This boy was sweet, but they all were. He was handsome, but she had seen better. She thinks that maybe it was his intensity that did it. A companion to her burning flame. And when they were together, that fire BLAZED. It was all hot kisses, love confessions, and dancing in the rain. Because she what did she know better than passion and love?
But pretty soon everyone started to notice a change. They heard her laugh less often, saw her on Sundays less and less. They couldn’t remember the last time she showed them a painting or ended her letters with two big hearts over the “i”s in Dominique. Because she was too impassioned by her relationship with
him and
his work. She was put off to the side by his intensity, her light being put under a basket. And everyone knows that if a flame is smothered, it dies. And then she started to notice it too. And for the first time in her life, she hated herself and who she had become. She knew she had a fire and that that fire had turned into a hot coal. So she rummaged through drawers and cabinets and chests. She took out her telescope and her paints for the first time in months. And for the first time in months, she felt her passion and love for life flare. So she painted again and again. She learned to bake and to knit with and without magic. She started to live with the kind of passion and fire and love that lit up the world around her.
As her flame grew, she started to pull away from him and his intensity and his work. And it broke his heart. But he knew. The moment he saw her painting again, he knew what had happened. And he knew as well as anyone that a flame is useless unless it is seen. So he lets her go. And not only was her little flame seen, it BLAZED again and warmed the hearts of everyone. No one worried that the fire and passion and love would consume her, because some things just never die. And those two big hearts over her name at the end of every letter? Those signify a flame too bright to ever lose its light.
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