Beyond, back, behind, above, further, there is no ambivalence. There is only one candle. One light. To which the dragon wakes. To which the fire burns. To which the armies rise and cities rebuild. The candle, in the dark; you can't see the ruins but you can feel them.

Where forever is an insufficient word and your tears aren't worth the liquid wasted on them. Where you can feel the fires burning on your skin even though they are long gone and the remaining glow emanates only from embers. There is a tipping scale to this place, a weak tremor passing throughout the ground and touching you ever so lightly, whispering; you are standing on my heart. Walk carefully. Look before you reach. Take nothing. Give freely.

Ambivalence or not; this is just a temporary Fata Morgana. You are blinded by shadows dancing intricately before your eyes, all claws and fangs and terrifying scales; the promise of fire. If this is as far as you get, you will be burnt. Cold or hot, make your choice. But burnt you will be.

And all these things last, as long as the dragon wakes. The candle burns brightly, in the deepest dark; illuminating all. Only an angel will come to tend a single light. Only an angel came to tend my heart.

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