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It was cozy and warm by the fireplace and she lay there, wrapped in a soft blanket, while the flames crackled gently. In her hands she held an old book whose yellowed pages and faded writing were difficult to decipher. But she was fascinated by the story hidden in this mysterious work – a true story that seemed so strangely familiar.
The book told of a girl who – just like her – sat by the fire at night, wrapped herself naked in the warmth of the fire and read. It was a story of longing, of loneliness and the fleeting connection that arises between the flames and the mind when the world outside is silent and dark.
Her thoughts began to circle. Was she herself that girl? Was it a coincidence that she was touching the same pages, reading the same lines? The warmth of the fireplace intensified, as if the flames were touching her soul, and the words on the pages seemed to become more vivid with each passing moment. The boundaries between her and the story blurred, and she felt as if she were part of an ancient ritual – a circle of fire, letters and thoughts that stretched through time.
The connection deepened with every breath. She was the girl, and yet she was not. The words of the book, the gentle warmth of the fire, the stillness of the night – all of it came together in one moment…
