Kindled

Prologue

IN the overwhelming darkness of the night, a glowing figure stood atop a tiled roof, overlooking the Yorkshire dales with an emotion of misery spreading through her.

Her flaming hair surrounded her, as the light beamed from her like an aura. Her eyes were cold, despite the warm flame flicking around them. Her pale skin was evident, as the flames weren't burning her face, as it would've been expected.

She was merciless, despite her heavenly appearance. She killed, with no conscience or apparent regret. It was all to avenge her death, back in 1892.

Friday 23rd October, 1892, 6:00am was the last time she was alive. At the young age of eighteen, the girl loved the flames, and always stayed close to them, every night. It helped her relieve the stress she always felt around her family, who didn't care for her whatsoever.

One night, exactly six in the morning, two boys, named Fredrick and James, sneaked into the girl's garden. They always saw her in town, and always made fun of her because her hair was often burnt. This was because the girl always stayed too close to the fire and often unevenly burned her strands of hair.

Snickering, the boys tiptoed behind the girl. When they got close enough, they shoved the girl over.

Now, the girl had been leaning over the fire at this point, a position she did often to feel the warmth of the flames over her face. The boys never intended to burn her entire body; just simply burn her hair as a joke. But to their horror, the girl was fully engulfed by the flames, her whole body being burned in contact with the flames. She screamed and cried for help, but no one came. Her ma and pa were asleep, and Fredrick and James were too shocked and terrified to move. The girl desperately let out one yell, before sinking to the ground, her hair covering her face with the flames licking her entire body, as if the poor girl was eternally kindling.

There was an eerie silence.

"G-go check, James," Frederick whispered, his voice faltering. "Go check if she's still.....alive."

Reluctantly, James did just that. He emerged to the fire, that was now burning low. He coughed, maybe because of the smoke, but then again, maybe it was because he wanted to break the horrifying silence that hung in the air.

James stared in silence at the burned corpse of the girl, and nervously gulped.

"S-she's......dead."

Frederick stood, his face blank. "What now?"

Suddenly, the ground began to violently shake. From the floor, the dead girl slowly arose. Her appearance had drastically changed. Her hair had transformed to flames, and the dress she had been wearing was a faint flicker of fire. Her eyes were balls of fire, like she was crying flame. Her skin was pale and snowy, and her expression was emotionless.

"Kill.....revenge......kill," she whispered menacingly to Frederick and James. "You'll pay! You'll get what's coming to you, every single one of you! You'll all regret the day you hurt Freya Manners!"

She was floating off the ground now, just by a few feet, but it was evident she was all the same.

Her voice was deep, and sounded as though two or three voices were melted within. She grabbed Frederick and James by the scruffs of their collars and growled into their faces, her hot breath dancing down their necks like a light aura of heat from a bursting fire.

"What do you want??" James desperately yelled, as Freya's hair burned his cheek.

"I want you to die," she replied, and lifted her hand. A ball of flame appeared, and Freya brought it to his face. "You're first, James."

Suddenly, Freya screeched like a banshee, and violently threw the ball in James' face. James loudly screamed, yelped and yelled, his feet kicking centimetres off the ground as his face smoked and burned, his skin peeling and shredding before Freya and Frederick's eyes. James fell to the floor, dead. His face was completely peeled, his skin a raw pink, and his eyes glazed and bulging in their sockets.

"You're next, Fred," Freya smiled, relishing in her murdering spree. Frederick whimpered, not wishing to die. But it appeared he had no given choice.

Freya made a fire using the burned pile of sticks in which her destined grave had been. She then violently shoved Frederick into the fire, engulfing his whole body in dancing flames. He was dead, but unlike Freya, he wasn't coming back to life, as a fire demon.

Freya smiled, and walked away from the disastrous scene.

They were all going to pay.

Every single one of them.