On the coldest night of the year, a lantern was lit.
Its flame was meant only to guide someone home — a simple beacon, no more.
But days passed.
Snow buried the path, the wind carved its own rivers through the drifts, and still the lantern glowed.
Weeks turned to months.
The storms came and left again, and the flame… remained.
At first, you admired it.
Then you grew curious.
Then you began to wonder — is it truly fire? Or something else pretending to be fire?
The thought will not leave you.
Each night you stand before it, the light painting your shadow across the ice.
If you opened the lantern, would the light vanish…
or would you?
Some things are easier left burning.
But the question still waits for your hands.
What flame in your life burns too long to be ordinary?
