{The song is one of my favorites at the moment. I HOPE YA ENJOY whoever decides to read this shiz}

Madame Mohana was a hermit who lived alone in a decrepit mansion at the edge of town.  Rumors would spread like a wildfire as soon as she came to town.  Some said that she was a magician who called upon the powers of darkness to wreck havoc upon her town.  Others called her a mad doctor who could return life to the foul corpses from the cemetery. What confused the townspeople the most, was the adorable toddler that accompanied her into the town. No "respectable" citizen in town wanted anything to do with Mohana and that's how she prefered it anyway. 
The child grew like a beanstalk. She was as dark and mysterious as a raven but with the calmness and beauty of a blue jay. Her long curly black hair was always wild but tamed, and she always had the urge to start a fire. She was a pyromaniac. Madame Mohana had educated her well in academics, athletics, as well as magic. She rarely caused trouble and when she does, it's only because the constant badgering she gets from the townspeoples' children. The child grew darker and darker as each day of torment would go by.  The child's name is Anthea-Maleana, the child of the mad witch in the house on the hill.
On a relatively sunny, cheerful day, the townsfolk decided that they had had enough of the witch's secrets and black magic. They stormed up the dead, crooked hill with a look in their eyes that could kill a dragon. With a bang on the old creaky door, Mohana was out.  She sweetly asked what it was that they needed of her and the response she got was,"We want you dead." With a snarl as fierce as a dragon, Mohana slammed the door after a quick shout of goodbye.
The townsfolk didn't give up there. The children of the town were sent of to grab Anthea-Maleana to hang on the ancient Wisteria tree planted on the edge of town where not even Madame Mohana dared to enter. Anthea was constantly picking the blue and black roses that grew in her mentor's garden with a bright smile on her face. She was humming to a cheery tune that Mohana would sing to her when she had her periodic night terrors. Anthea was thinking that the flowers would brighten up that old dark mansion.
Anthea saw some of the children from the town skipping her way with big white bags. She figured that they were just coming to pick flowers as well. Slowly, the children approached her with malicious smiles on their faces, the suspense so thick in the air, it could be cut with a spoon. With a quickness unmatched, they grabbed her by locks of black hair and shoved her face into a bag, tying as fast as possible. The children dragged Anthea back into town and to the tree as she slowly started to slip into her darker thoughts.
When the children got to the tree, Mohana was already there with a glare on her face that could pierce right through your soul.
They took her darling little girl. They were going to pay, she knew they were going to pay. No matter who dies first, they were going to  pay. All she had to do was let them hang her instead of her dear Anthea-Maleana. They would trigger everything and ruin their own lives. "Kill me instead", said Madame Mohana with a forceful tone to her voice. Who were they to say no, she was the one they wanted dead in the first place? The agreed without a slight bit of hesitation. They freed Anthea and zoomed to knot the noose around Mohana's neck. They grabbed the other end of the dreadful rope and pulled, wrapping it tightly around the abnormal trunk of the Wisteria tree, making the wispy leaves blow as if the tree knew of the malicious event that was about to take place.
Anthea's heart had fractured into so many pieces as she heard the cruel snapping of Mohana's dainty neck, that she felt as if she was crying the blood from her broken heart. Anthea slowly rose from the ground and eerily started to whisper, "I am the fire, the fire is me. I'm most like the fire, the fire is most like me." The townsfolk then knew something was up and as they tried to run, the whispers soon turned into ear piercing screams as fire had erupted from what seemed liked every place on Anthea's body.  The color orange sliding down her raven mane. Horns as black as night sprouting out of her skull and black wings crawling out of her back. The fire spread all throughout the town and the Wisteria forest, burning down the trees and converting the townsfolk to ashes. She thought the fire was beautiful. The fire who burned as bright as the sun, the same fire that was in the girl's eyes.
As Anthea laid down on the crispy grass, she also, started to burn, and as her last tear wiggled down her face, she had one final thought. "This time, I went too far."
That was the last anyone heard of the girl who started fires everywhere she went,
......the girl who was a pyromaniac.

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Ummm. This is my first short story, sorry if it's crap. Btw, the song is Golden by Ruth B. If you listened to it and liked it.
You can't have her tho because she's mine.