Snowflakes of dirt and smudge, in air heavy enough to hold.

She will smell this charred carbon for the rest of her life, she knows;
every candle, every sparkler, every hearth - she will be here again.

Not sure what is wood and what is bone.

Here,
where nothing did not burn,
where any world that was not flame ceased to exist,

inside the fireplace, protected by the stone,

this...