between the motion and the act

The drop of oil was about to fall, and would have completed the line of flame between torch and puddle, puddle and barrels; a deep breath, an inhalation of air, a rising flame that would have run through the castle to devour it entirely.

A white hand reached out to catch the drop.

A wounded creature staggered through the castle, knowing only that he was a sinner and that there was blood on his hands.

Weeping, he stumbled out into the rainy forest, looking for death rather than life.

Kanzeon withdrew her hand, and let the drop fall. Fire blossomed.

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