Arsonist Belle

told me to draw this kind of

At first, it shocked her, then sent her into a worried frenzy. As she has just bumped the bookshelf, an aromatic candle set high atop took a mighty curved step from the less-than-subtle bump, careening over the edge and falling sideways upon the desk beside it. As the molten wax and flame began to over take the velvet whisps and sapphire inlays of her sister's newest piece of fashion, Sweetie Belle was frozen in place, not knowing both what to do nor what fate was to befall her -

But, as the flame began to grow, it did not spread like wildfire - it grew in size but was contained to the waxen circle surrounding it. It flickered and bellowed, casting an astonishing amber glow onto Sweetie Belle's hooves. As she lowered her legs and loosened herself from her cowled pose, suddenly the romantics of the thing began to take hold.

Slowly, at first, she made her way over towards the flickering fire. It seemed to dance for her, it lept and it swayed, a fierce display of potential, and yet so small, so young. It reminded her of herself.

And yet, it sought to please her. She applied gentle pressure to the sides of the dress, causing the wax to roll further and the flames to expand further upon the fabric. It welcomed this with a lively wave and sudden rise upwards.

It followed her direction, it learned from instruction. It was, like her child.

And so in that moment, Sweetie Belle found her calling. The song of her voice would always ring true. But the song of the flame would forever be her destiny.