Aglow

"Do you think we're mirrors?" She regarded him with an observant eye and remarked "You're coloured blue though." 
"So?" went the eyebrows quizically. 
"I consider myself more..red."
He nodded in quiet regard. 
"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, after a heartbeat. 
"The painting you asked me to make?"
"You didn't make it, did you?"
"Of course not. The inspiration is missing."
*A heartbeat and another*
"Come."
"Where to?"
"Close your eyes."
"I don't like this incapacitation but I think I need the adventure-"
"Shh. Almost there," comes the whispered instruction.
"I'm blind, I wouldn't know" she whispers back accusingly, against the palms encompassing sight.
She bangs against a stone, yelping in pain and abruptly freed of the hold, having to shield her eyes against the delicate flutter of the lit matchstick, as if it were a blazing fire.
She blinks, her eyes growing accustomed to the dark and the sound of breeze brushing against paper. She looks down and there it is, a floating candle waiting to be set aglow and afloat, red and bright, calling out to the raw urge for freedom in her soul.
"Your inspiration." He beams.


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