> I was just a child, a thin, fragile one, playing a dangerous game in a place where the cold seeped into your bones, where fire wasn’t just warmth—it was survival. > > We held matches, and the rule was to see who could hold on the longest without flinching, without letting go, even when the flames licked your skin.Most kids played for the thrill. For the win. But for me? It was about proving something. > Aurelia saw it as a game of power. But I saw it as control—of making light in a place that swallowed everything in dark. > When I held that match, and the flame crept up, I didn’t drop it. > > I burned. > > Because to me, letting go was worse than pain. Letting go meant surrendering to the cold. And I refused. > > When I told Aurelia that story, she thought it meant I could endure more pain than anyone else. But you might see deeper. You see that northern winters aren’t just cold—they’re long. And in that length, you learn to stretch a single light for miles. > I held onto that match the same way I held onto my plans, my sacrifices. Not just to endure, but to illuminate—even if it consumed me. > > *I want to take fragments, those flickering thoughts, and make them burn bright. Even if it hurts. Even if it means losing something of myself in the fire.*