Willa gasped as Danny submerged her hands into the bucket filled with cold water, chunks of ice floating about the surface. She could not hold back a tear as the pain radiated from her hands and up her arms to the rest of her body. She looked away from her burned hands, and the blisters that had formed on the sensitive skin. They were a bright, ugly crimson color, raw and tender.
Danny's voice was low, and he was telling - or perhaps asking - her something, but Willa wasn't paying much attention. All the while, a familiar thought is being repeated within her mind, 'If you play with fire, you're bound to get burned'.
The fire that flowed through her veins had never disobeyed her before, but she had coddled it like a small child with a pet, never truly controlling the raw power within herself. And, after all, if an animal isn't controlled, sooner or later someone will get bit.
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