"Siri Malkia sat on a wooden throne overlooking a burning sea. It had not been afire when she found it. It had been only part of the pointless dream of some mindless daydreamer. However, she had put it to good use. It was now aflame, fumes of burning kerosene choking the otherwise pristine evening air. The smell reminded her of the city. The sun had set, and the glow from the fiery sea was enchanting, like arson on a cold, winter