As long as there has been fire, there has been flesh to be burned upon it, she reasoned. So this too was fine, was an act of nature and a continuation of the normal cycles of the world. This flesh must be burned, no matter how badly it screams otherwise.
The flesh in question probably had a name and probably gave that name to her when they met in the bar a couple of house ago but it didn't matter. It was forgotten as soon as it was spoken in favour of luring - no, that wasn't right - persuading the flesh to join the pyre and sing with the rest of nature.
And how it sung, how loudly they all sung together. A perfect cacophony of weeping, screaming, roaring, crackling and singing. Some day someone else would have the same realisation as her and then it would be her turn to join the pyre.
And how she would sing.
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