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Vibrations in a wire.
Ice crystals
In a beating heart.
Cold fire.
A mind’s frigidity;
Frozen steel
Dark rage, morbidity.
Cold fire.
Defense against
A cruel life
Death and strife.
Cold fire.

- the Book of Counted Sorrows
The sharp staccato of her heels on the tiles reverberated around the room.
She could be silent and deadly but intimidation worked better for her. Bold and stunning. Amazing…
…and powerful.
Her gun was heavy in her holster and she knew twenty five ways to render a man unconscious, but that wasn’t what made her dangerous. She was witty and cruel and tough as nails but that wasn’t what scared them about her.
She rarely smiled. When she did it was often feral and full of teeth and there was nothing warm about it. There was a fire smoldering within her – an icy flame that froze to the bone and reflected her soul in her eyes. She was highly perceptive and uncannily clever but that wasn’t what worried them.
She was capable of loving – the blue gas flame cooled off once in a while and that’s when she was capable of being warm. She was capable of crying, of being weak, and of being human. And that, more than anything, more than cold fire, scared and worried them and made her dangerous.
Because, when she wanted…
…she was capable of being her mother’s daughter.

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