The temple burned and burned and burned.

Smoke billowed endlessly from the top of the old stone building. It was more smoke than I had ever seen before. The way it spread over the village was a as a rain cloud settled in the sky. Dark and looming.

The fire was terribly large as well. At that age I was only allowed near cooking’s fires. Those fires were contained. As contained as a fire could be; with large rocks placed around them and enough firewood to sustain the flames but not enough to fan them. Sometimes the flames would rebel. They would spread hoping to catch the long hair or sleeves of a foolish child. There were no foolish children in Lyka.

The fire in the temple was large and angry. Vindictive almost. It lapped at the precious blue silk curtains that covered the entry ways of the temple violently. It wrapped around the pillars and forced them down one after the other. It reduced all that was sacred and precious in the temple to cinders.

At first the fire was loud. Crashes and pops intermingled with shrieks and screams. The temple minders. Unmarried men and women who devoted themselves to the faith; who ate, bathed and slept within the four walls of the brown building. Eventually there was no noise to be heard from the blazing structure. Just quiet destruction. All that told of the dead was the putrid sweet smell that came from the temple.