27: Disasters

Sean    

It takes the valley four days to stop burning, and by that time, nothing there is left alive.

“Sweet Arianrhod,” I whisper, following Jack as we sort through the rubble of the cottage for anything salvageable or that Darby may want or need, but there’s nothing. The few pieces of intact stoneware we unearth from the kitchen pulverize to powder as soon as we try to move them. The stone knives splinter to razor shards. The supernatural fire was so hot even the glass is fused into brittle, glistening drips and puddles, the mortar between the cottage’s stones baked into choking dust.

A few charred tree trunks twist skyward in pained supplication like the shriveled, blackened hands of the damned, all that remains of the once achingly beautiful orchard. Of the younger, smaller trees, only piles