His Proposition

"Will you tether yourself to me? Submit to me but not lose the fire..."

He continues. My eardrums continue to pick up the vibrations of his voice, but my mind ceases to process the corresponding meaning behind them.

Not lose my fire? My fire...my fire...my fire could neither be contained, owned, nor extinguished.

Within this frigid exoteric shell, a blazing inferno rages- implacable and ravenous. No structure could restrain it, no ambition could retain it, and no commission could repeal it.

An attempt at possession would result in scorched flesh; it burns through your palms as you hold it in your hand.

Nothing is impossible...

I decide that these flames are at the very least manageable. In theory. Douse them enough with the correct suppressor.

Still, I imagine the amount of exertion and resolve required to accomplish that task is no amount to sneeze at.

...

Handkerchief?