Bab 873: A Burning Memory, Part 6

"Little baby Ria."

Ria, the full-grown and jaded version of her anyway, watched as her younger, corporeal-flamey self continued flapping her little wings across the living room space. Up and over the bumps and ridges of couches, gliding behind the window drapes as a whizzing splotch of light bleeding through the thick fabric. 

The flame bird was kinda like a housefly. A cuter, less rage-inducing house fly buzzing past your ears and in the corner of your eyes - flying wild and whimsical. 

I suppose there are just some traits that stick with you through childhood and beyond.