The acrid scent of burning sulfur filled her nose and she sneezed, almost blowing out the match she’d just lit. “Dammit,” she said, sneezing again, and then once more for good measure. Lyse always sneezed in threes. Unless she was sick, and then all bets were off. She grasped the delicate wrist of the hand holding the match, steadying her arm. She knelt down beside the stone altar and lit the wick of the long white taper resting atop it. The candle flared to life, a pulsing pillar of flame that gradually settled into a squat orange-and-gold triangle of fire. The match was beginning to gutter, so she quickly moved to a second white taper, and it, too, blazed to life beneath her fingers. She stared at the flames, at the living fire she’d trapped on pale white columns made of string and wax. The fire wanted to be free. To leap from her hands and take root in the brittle brown leaves carpeting the floor of the eucalyptus grove and the clearing.
What do You think about The Last Dream Keeper (2015)?
