One. Two. Three.

You quietly counted your steps as you trotted down the sidewalk, the soft crackle of the fireplace in the nearby bed-and-breakfast comforting you. Which was funny.

Because the bed-and-breakfast doesn't light its fireplace until 5 o'clock.

Of course, then again, there really was no way for you to tell what time it was unless you were told.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

The smoldering sparks of last night's attack chirped and hissed, the embers dancing around a girl either too foolish or to focused to drink in the beauty around her.

Pyro assumed the latter.

He laughed quietly to himself, watching you step through the ashes of what once was a bustling, happy, but unfortunately sheltered town.

At least, in Pyro's opinion they were sheltered.

Sheltered from the beauty of fire and destruction, of death and torture. So he brought it to them.

Twenty. Twenty one. Twenty two.

Dirt shifted under the weight of your footsteps, and you smiled softly as the inviting crackle of the fire beckoned you into the small inn which it was housed.

Wait.

You passed the bed-and-breakfast nineteen paces ago.

Twenty fiv-

Pyro tilted his masked head in confusion as you stumbled through the burnt and now fragile drywall of a collapsed building. Perhaps you were stupid, and perhaps you were focused, but no one's stupid or focused enough to fall through an obstacle that they should be able to see.

Then a thought struck him.

She's blind.