Flames. Orange, flickering, blue, white, bright. Oppressive heat. A throat parched beyond endurance. A belly, ever empty, never sated, never full. She dances in her own firelight, drops of crimson coursing down her slim, graceful form. Every muscle is visible beneath the golden flesh. Her pale knee length hair trails behind her like a living thing itself, moving in time to the ever-present music, flickering here and there with cerulean flame. Eyes, deep and dark like a desert pool on a moonless night, burn with tiny azure embers in their core. She dances on stone, on sand, on grass, amid trees...she leaves ash in her wake, and obsidian. She dances for her king, and he sees that it is good. She is Ghal Makaltan, the Flame Dancer. She is hunger, desire, destruction. And she is beautiful.

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