**Doubt thou the stars are fire...

        -William Shakespeare

****

Bucerina Beresford, handsome, clever and rich, had discovered her most serious flaw at an early age; she would usually, when angry or provoked, burst into flames.

This was, of course, a slight over exaggeration, as it was more like delicate tendrils of white fire that flicked along her arms to rise out of her palms and that encircled her head like a crown or a halo. While it may have given her an angelic appearance, she sincerely doubted that there was anything holy about it. She’d certainly given herself a fright the first time she’d seen the flames springing out of her hands and snaking around her arms.

It had happened on her thirteenth birthday, after her youngest sister Charlotte had stolen her piece of cake and given it to the dog. Charlotte, at the tender age of six, had taken one look at her and set into a fit of tears, while Mary, the middle sister, had run in to determine what all the fuss was about and stopped dead in her tracks to stare wordlessly at Bucerina.

“Bucky,” she’d said, carefully, (Mary was always careful, even at nine years old), “I think I should get Mama and Papa, because you are on fire.”

Staring down at herself, she felt a little horrified, but also a little intrigued. Her anger beginning to abate, she watched the flames lick upwards with their strange, pale glow. It was then that she noticed that it didn’t hurt at all, as she’d always imagined fire would when burning on a person, but rather it felt like a soft and warm embrace. Her hands felt tingly, and she had the strangest sense that here the unknown veiled something deeper and more powerful.

“Bucky.” Mary’s voice, more forceful this time.

“No, don’t.” Bucerina had found her own voice again. “I’m alright, Mary. Mama and Papa do not need to know.”

“But..” Mary protested, her eyes flicking between Bucerina’s still flaming form, and Charlotte who continued to cry on the floor.

“I said no! Must you always be a tattle-tale?” She had practically shouted this last part with her rising temper, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when her parents did, in fact, appear in the doorway moments later.

“Mary is sensible, not a tattle-tale, Bucky.” Her father looked at her sternly. Then his eyes widened, as he really looked at her.

“Oh, Charlotte, come now. Where is her nursemaid?” Her mother was clearly distracted by the small, wailing child, and turned away for a moment to call out for the missing servant.

“Thomasina, dear? Perhaps put that on hold for a moment,” her father said, more evenly than one would expect from a father looking at his eldest child and heiress covered in flames.

“What?” Lady Beresford whirled back and finally spotted Bucerina. “Bucky, for heavens sake, are you on fire?” She quickly dismissed the approaching nursemaid and closed the door to keep out any prying eyes. Then she rushed forward to inspect her blazing daughter.

“Why isn’t anyone putting her out?” Mary inquired, still a little panicked. When nobody acted, she reached out and grabbed a nearby wash-pitcher, and tossed the leftover contents over her sister.

“Mary!” Bucerina screamed as the cold water splashed on her, “this is my favourite gown!” The flames jumped higher at the spark of her fresh anger, and her mother sighed.

“Yes, I expected as much. I’m afraid water isn’t going to help, Mary, dear. Bucky, you are going to have to calm down before the fire will die down. Then, we will explain.”

Bucky did not want to calm down. She was confused, angry, a little petulant at the fact that her parents didn’t seem concerned, and now she was also rather cold and wet. She was, however, eventually persuaded by the gentle administrations of her mother and the cessation of Charlotte’s wails. She did not want anyone to think that she was less capable of controlling herself than a small child.

Finally, the flames were gone. Remarkably, they had done little damage to her surroundings, other than a small, singed circle on the rug she’d stood upon. Evidently, the flames were very unusual indeed.

“Well, Charles, it appears that it’s still in our blood, after all.” Lady Beresford made this opaque remark entirely to her husband, but Bucky took it upon herself to answer.

“Mama, would anyone care to please tell me what exactly is happening?” She said it as politely as she could, which was a difficult task at this particular moment.

Her mother gave her a long, thoughtful look, before finally settling in to tell them all a rather long story.