“Storms are my forte,” the red-lipped stranger said, her blue ember eyes glowing softly in the misty gloom. A tendril of smoke curled elegantly from her opened palm—a whisper of fire, and roses. “Diamonds and sapphires raining across the open sky . . .”

“Hmm . . . Lightning and thunder are beautiful too,” she continued, stroking her ebon hair darker than night, that glimmered with the touches of starlight. “Blue and silver streaks across an indigo sky with rain,” she purred. Her voice was melodious, like the ocean by twilight, like a breeze playing upon cathedral bells.

“But I do like firestorms too. Topaz and red, like ruby bolts of silk . . .”

“But firestorms destroy,” I pointed out.

“The phoenix does not die,” she replied in turn, amused with my input. Her eyes crinkled, as if to say, you silly creature. “He remains himself through that dance of flame.”

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“It may,” she said with a tilt of her head. “But only if you let it.”

“Then I won’t,” I said with determination.

She smiled. “You’re perfect!” she said with a pleased nod. “I’ll teach you to dance with fire!”

“What of water?” I inquired.

“You’re too eager,” she said. “One thing at a time. Soon, you’ll learn it all. And you’ll protect lives, and become a warrior. Not that you aren’t one already,” she added fondly. Already, she seemed to like me. I was proud to have her approval.

“Now, guard that warrior’s heart until I come back, alright?” she said, rising from her chair. Outside, the winds howled, and the thunderstorm went on, drumming its rhythm upon the windowpanes.

“I will,” I promised with a determined nod.

She proffered me a kind smile. “I shall return soon. Sleep well.”

Again, I nodded, my eyes already closing. “Good night, madam.”

I did not see her leave, but I was smiling contentedly in my slumber. I did not see her cast a longing smile, her eyes aglow with love as she opened the door and vanished into the rain.