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Most do not know the story behind the fire dancer. Long ago there was a frail young maid who adored very much a man out of her league. This man she had her gaze upon was a handsomely dark Barron of the manner. This pail stringy haired woman covered in the ashes continued to work to the bone everyday of her young life, just so she could catch a mere glimpse of this Barron. She realized from the first moment she set her large eyes upon this man, he would never look upon her in such an amorous way. Due to the cursed beauty of her parents, she was nether neither beautiful nor ugly. She was the essence of the word plain. No rosy cheeks were bestowed onto this maiden nor were her eyes of a vibrant shade. Her hair was stringy and her body was flat lacking all the feminine curves. She was simply dull. Like a day that is neither sunny nor rainy, her beauty was the gray sky in-between snowstorms in mid January. Her neck was gooselike and her face was mousy especially when she was skeptical.
The Barron never really noticed her unless his eggs were not boiled correctly or if the kitchen floor was finished with perfection. Instantly she would run by his side and assist his complaints. Sometimes these were accidents, but most of the time she did it for the attention.
One day the Barron decided his house needed the company of a Baroness. He searched the lands but it did not take long until he had a line of women outside his door. Most were dressed so lavishly that they could outdo a peacock or surpass the most exotic fragrant flowers with their royal perfumes. While the women waited they saw the plain servant with her head lowered and her hands folded upon her coal stained apron. Many giggled under their flared fans and they made comments to one another. Though a fire burned passionately in her heart she made sure that they would not see it in her eyes. During that day she could stand this mockery no more, she pulled out her finest of her mother’s dowry. She put on the white gown and pulled her hair back in a jeweled net and stood in line herself. One other Baroness could not hold back her laughter. “Look at this dirty fool, what a foul swine she is, you call that a gown, why I would not allow that thing to be a table cloth upon my servant’s table.” At that the other girls laughed. The plain maid could stand this talk no longer, though she could stand her own mockery she would never allow her dead mother’s gifts to be the source of their laughter. Instantly, she snatched the Baronesses throat and knocked her to the floor. She let her fists fly and her nails scratch out that pretty face that mocked her mother. It wasn’t long until the baronesses’ friends took the maid and threw her into the nearby lounge room. In there she furiously fought the three other women but she was no match. They pushed her over the end table and she fell close to the fire she tended every day. Though she missed the fire, her mother’s garment did not. In an instant the fire engulfed her body. She screamed with her arms outstretched for help but the women just watched her burn. They waited. Waited until she moved no more, then they put the fire that fed on her out with the nearest blanket. When the Barron came to confront the women’s commotion, he found that his maid was dead. With his blood boiling and his eyes enraged he shrieked for the women to leave. He mourned the body of his maid for a moment. Then he asked the other servants to remove the body and find a new maid.
Though this was the death to the maid, this also brought about the birth of a demon. At the moment when she died, her passion was so strong that her essence merged with that fire. A passion filled with love and hate. This demon was hungry, not for revenge, nor for love, but for attention.
Every night when the Barron would end his evening with a book by the fire, he witnessed it from then on. The constant sighs that sizzled with the burning logs, and the beauty of the fire’s movements as it climbed the fireplace. Years later, he decided to take note of the fire, and in his book beside his text one could see his writing.

In her movements she screams
Look at me!
Look at me!
She jumps and sparks
Watch this, see!
Watch this, see!
Constantly she begs at your feet.
Gaze at me!
Gaze at me!
And upon her lips she murmurs
Let us Be!
Let us Be!