Ficly

Cora's Flaw

Cora sat in a most lady-like position upon a high granite outcropping of oddly shaped boulders, peering with her dark eyes upon the source of the orange glow reflected within them. She smirked slightly, her dimpled cheek disrupting the path of a single tear that was creeping down her skin. Her legs were outlined in her pink floral dress and her straight hair danced in the hot breeze that pushed against her. While the wind heated her face, she sang a song with her sweet teenage voice that would melt the collective heart of mankind.

It was like hearing a chorus of angels every time she sang. Her smile was contagious, catching some primitive instinct inside the brain for wanting something so beautiful to love you. Everyone who knew her loved her completely.

They were all dead, of course, having been gathered for her party inside that burning house. The fire, started in the basement with a can of gas and matches, was never meant to kill.

She was kind of sorry, in a way.
She just liked to watch things burn.

View this story's 7 comments.