Burning love

“Men don’t always make the right choice, darling” I say, stirring honey into her tea.

The scent of herbs simmers from the cauldron behind me — rosemary, mugwort, a trace of something darker. Smoke from the burning sage curls around us, and when I inhale, it burns my throat. It always does. Reminds me of that night. The fire.

I steady my breath and add, “Sometimes they just need to be guided.”

Ellie looks small at my kitchen table, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. My beautiful, clever girl. She reminds me so much of myself at her age — that restless passion, that hunger to be loved so completely it swallows everything else.

“I know, Aunt Lucia” she murmurs. “But he barely looks at me now. Not since… the accident.”

Ah, yes. The accident.

The word hangs in the air, heavy and sharp as smoke. I remember the way she came to me that night — smelling of soot and panic, her eyes wild, her hands trembling. Beneath the fear, I saw it: the same desperate ache that once lived in me. The ache of betrayal. The kind that rots you from the inside out until you do something irreversible.

“Nate is a smart boy” I tell her gently. “He’ll come around.”

Her lips tremble into a weak smile. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen” she says. “I just wanted her to stop hurting him.”

Her voice breaks on the last word.

“One moment I was burning the photo, and the next…” she swallows hard. “The curtains caught. There was so much smoke. I didn’t think she’d—”

I reach for her hand before she can finish. “Hush now.”

Tears shimmer at the edges of her lashes. “I didn’t think she’d end up in the hospital” she whispers. “I swear I didn’t.”

I nod, thumb stroking her wrist in slow circles. Her pulse flutters like a trapped bird beneath my touch. “Of course you didn’t, my dear. You acted from love. Love is a dangerous thing when it burns too bright.”

Her breath steadies. Then something sharp glints in her eyes. “She deserved it” Ellie says, quiet but certain. “After what she did to him. After how she made him look at her.”

A small, bitter smile tugs at my lips. “We’ve both known that sting, haven’t we?”

She nods. “And I’ll be damned before I let anyone do that to Nate again.”

“Good girl” I say softly. “He’ll see, soon enough. He just needs time — and a little nudge.”

She looks up, hope flickering across her face. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” I smile, slow and sure. “Now drink your tea.”

She obeys, sipping quietly while I gather the final ingredients from the counter. A sprig of rosemary for clarity. A drop of honey for sweetness. A single thread of her hair — she doesn’t notice when I pluck it from her shoulder. I seal it all into a small glass jar and hand it to her.

“This will help. Place it beneath his bed for eleven nights. On the twelfth — Halloween night — take it outside and burn the remains. Then blow the ashes to the wind and say the words I taught you.”

She clutches the jar carefully. “And you’re sure this will work?”

“Yes, my dear. I’ve perfected it over the years. Nate just needs reminding where his heart belongs.”

Relief softens her face. She stands and hugs me tightly, her breath warm against my neck. “I trust you with my life, Aunt Lucia. I owe you everything.”

Her sleeve slips as she pulls away, revealing the faded burn mark on her forearm. My eyes linger on it. She was only a baby when I carried her from the flames — screaming, choking on smoke, her parents’ home collapsing behind us. The neighbors called me a hero for saving her.

And perhaps I was.

I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Then stop worrying and let auntie handle the rest.”

She nods and leaves. I watch her go through the warped glass of the window, her figure swallowed by fog.

Shadow, my cat, yawns on the hearth and stretches his paws. His tail flicks once, twice, before he curls back into himself.

“She’s just like her father, isn’t she?” I whisper. He purrs in reply.

I turn back to the fire. The flames crackle low, alive with memory.

He had such beautiful eyes, her father — kind, trusting, so easy to love. I waited for him for years while he was away, loyal as the moon. When he returned, it was with that woman and a baby in his arms. He said I’d misunderstood, that there had never been anything between us. That I was imagining things.

He called me crazy.

I only wanted him to see reason. I tried to cleanse the corruption that woman brought into his heart. But he wouldn’t listen. So I did what I had to do.

The flames that took them were quick — merciful, really.

And when I pulled Ellie from the wreckage, wrapped her in my arms and whispered that she was safe, the world called me a savior. No one ever questioned me. Why would they? Heroes don’t need alibis.

I glance at the half-empty teacup Ellie left behind, the honey clinging to the sides. “You’ll thank me one day, my sweet girl” I whisper. “When he finally sees you for what you are.”

Shadow lifts his head, golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. I can almost hear his thoughts — or maybe they’re mine. And what will become of her, when he doesn’t?

I smile faintly. “Then I’ll guide her again.”

Outside, the wind picks up, carrying the faint smell of smoke from some faraway chimney. For a moment it almost sounds like his voice, echoing from that long-ago night — the way he screamed as the fire consumed him.

I close my eyes and listen. The sound doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s almost… tender.

He had to be cleansed. They both did. Love like that can’t be left to rot; it spreads, it infects.

I stir the cauldron one last time before bed, whispering a prayer over the steam.

“Let them rest, wherever they are. And let the right ones find each other.”

The flames shudder and rise — and for a moment, I swear I see his face in the smoke, smiling.

“Next time,” I whisper. “Next life. You’ll choose me.”

Shadow’s tail flicks again, brushing my ankle. The clock ticks toward midnight. Somewhere in the dark, a match is struck, and another fire begins to burn.