What erupted forth from her fingertips was fire. Dancing orange and tumbling violet. Sickly sweet blue and green.

Handsome spires of flame wheeled and spun, somersaulting amongst the snow-laden pine boughs till the tufts of snow withered and the branches chattered in hisses and pops. Like a foreign tongue that sounds exotic to the ears of one restrained.

The trees were alight, burning vigorously.

Oh dear me, the Voice tsked. Not at all what you intended.

Kelty wept in disappointment and stepped back, ashamed of the horror unfolding before her still blazing eyes.