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|What does the people give the fire so it can continue living?||
The fire dancer
She stands still among the people.
A small girl covered with a black cloak.
No one knows her by name,
even when she was born among them.
Not a day older than twelve winters.
In her eyes is sorrow, joy and pain.
In her hands nothing but air.
She stands amidst the crowd.
Seemingly not noticing them at all.
Her eyes fixed on the flames
of a large bonfire burning in the middle of the street.
A soft smile on her lips she steps away from the crowd.
She steps toward the bonfire.
The orange flames casting shadows on her face.
Throwing the cloak away she reveals herself.
The crowd watches her as she does so.
Stepping into the bonfire,
crushing glowing ciders under her bare feet,
she starts dancing.
The orange and red flames,
licking their way up her body.
The crowds start chanting softly as she dances.
A maddened cry escapes from her lips,
as the flames reaches her hair.
Still dancing she lets the flames engulf her.
She is a being of fire.
Sparks explode in the silent night,
as she burns bright as the cinders.
The crowd watches and chants
as she becomes one with the flame,
burning in the bonfire,
she is one with the fire and the heat.
She continues dancing while she crumbles to dust.
Her ashes mixes among the logs,
her soul lifts itself over the crowd.
Among the people a small babe watches.
Waiting, longing, yearning,
the day when she will mate the flame.
When she will feel the warm tongues,
and the burning kisses.
Waiting for her turn.
To give her people her body in sacrifice,
for the warmth of the fire.
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