Flaming curls that are beginning to grow a bit singed,
Obsidian skin with a couple of fractures,
Mind like a well-forged blade, long-sharpened and wielded and bloodied.
She's been burning for a while.
Trying to find her purpose,
Resigning herself to her fate,
Carving a new one for herself,
She's been burning for a while.
Centuries of navigating deals and negotiations,
Attending rituals and festivals held in her honor,
Serving as a beacon for so many loyal believers, moths to her flame,
She's been burning for a while.
Her flame has never gone out, but it sputters and dims.
I must move on, it says, for I can be a beacon no longer.
She accepts this, knowing that her flame will not extinguish itself,
and as long as it continues to glow she will be at peace.
She will keep burning for a good, long, while.