In those days, Silvia was born, and she marked the beginning and the end for the People of the Flame. For at her birth the first drops of rain fell and so began the Days of Reason, and there unhinging was likened unto the tightening of a screw.
Silvia, born in a bird’s nest, looked down upon the People of the Flame and said, "This to shall come to pass, all anguish will be swept away with an implement as simple as a broom.” But this cannot be true, for at her birth Silvia was struck by a bolt of lightening and never spoke a single word. But story becomes myth, myth becomes legend, and in these ways the signs were foretold, for these day were called the Reseeding of the Flames.
Silvia was born naked, and of the color blue her skin was cool to the touch. And at the age of two she was four feet tall and grew no more. But her breasts were full, from which the smallest dogs would suckle, and birds and leopards too.
But for the People of the Flame there was no celebration, for they were all consumed by the heat of the fire that burned within them. Flames, flames, flames would lick and lie with her in sleep and slumber. And while laughing at their success, they learned she felt no shame and cried themselves out. For these were failed attempts to steal her beauty. And in the end, strewn with the bodies of the dead, the Land of Fire was laid to waste. The People of the Flame would fade and flicker. And those few that did remain would find no rest until Silvia was whisked away for them in a bucket of ice, like a fine champagne, never to see them again.
