"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 s