My fire is on the verge of turning blue. Just like we are on the verge of November. And the sudden rain today, when I stepped outside and breathed in the smell of wet concrete. Possibility. The metal taste of a blue flame, flicking inside my mouth like a reptilian tongue.
Cool scales, a steel heart. It takes only a split second for me to turn. Blue is the hottest part of the flame. And the coldest. Laser. Just give me a reason.