Zjarra

It wasn't always like this.

She could hardly recognize herself when she finally changed.

She felt like she was burning alive, the water in nearby creeks would boil when she waded through. The migraines from the searing heat made it hard to not feel like a walking corpse.

She tried to think back, back to the last time things felt normal. She noticed the air around her had grown dense with humidity lately, and the snow would come late every winter. She was the heart and soul of campfires and huddling around fireplaces. She was the symbol of warmth between each and every dragon and their familiars and the creatures around them and... and.. and.

And then the smoke came.

To this day she doesn't understand where it comes from, but it ignites her fury nonetheless. What noxious stench! What unbearable heat! Surely this is why or what made her become this way. She notices dragons drift farther apart as well, as it's surely way too warm to huddle and connect like the old times.

Outraged. She planted her feet into the earth beneath her, embracing the fire as it coursed through her veins. Gods, did it hurt. But she will make her pain known. And by the Gods, did she.

Nowadays, she lives alone in the center of the Forest's heart, fire consuming the foliage around her and her flesh. She is no longer the hearth. She is the wildfire.

It burns.