[SE] a perfect match

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

The fire was an intoxicating thing, and the longer she held it in her pulse, the longer it spilled over her in wonder – a dominating force, a call to might and danger. A beacon in many ways; she could fathom and understand why the crowd had joined in the rallying calls. So she swung her gaze back at Iskra with a menacing, triumphant, devilish combination of a grin, fully content at egging on the masses into chaos, and his stare nearly pinned her in place. For half a moment, her blood ran hot for a different reason, and then she snorted, remembering where they were and what they were doing; not quite an opportunity to drag him somewhere and have her way with him. Instead, she gave a little smirk and a wink, promises of other multitudes later.

For the present, there were Firehawks and cheers. She had to hand it to the kid; nerves of steel in place of where a brain should be. Melita joined in the chant, whooping and hollering as the teenager cleared it again. Thereafter, she even altered the bonfire to take on the shape of said hawk, altering the flames, pretending the inferno intended to claim him as one of their own.

The others rounded over and through as Iskra sidled up to her. She naturally tipped her head towards him, nodding along in hasty, bedlam-laden agreement, a sharp and potent notion of approval. “Let’s make the biggest one and see who’s up for it.” Her inspired snicker thereafter spoke volumes of her willingness to unfurl and unleash in grand, heightened scale.

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun