Another holiday in Shantytown, another bonfire, another celebration. Valentine's in Shantytown was the big event; the day that all inhibition disappeared. Gone. Poof. Just like her dreams. All she had left was Shantytown. And Valentine's Day.

This was a Valentine's Day that was going down in infamy. She was the belle of the ball. The muse. The siren. She had worked hard to make this night count. All of her energy, all of the plotting and planning. Ev-er-y-thing she was had been invested, and man, had it paid off.

The bonfire had been lit at sundown, and the music had started with a drum beat. Soft, a whisper on the night air. A pulse to seduce you into swaying before you knew you were moving. Soon the flutes and guitars joined in and the people were swaying as one. The smoke from the fire wafted through the throngs and was breathed in. Certain ingredients had been added to the fire which loosened inhibitions, lowering standards of decorum and encouraging less civilized behavior. These feelings were part of the celebration, so no one really noticed that an extra component had been added. It was in the punch.

She really had made good use of her time. No one suspected her of nefarious thoughts. She was the stereotype of a librarian. Prim, proper, of conservative dress. Friendly, but not the type to enocurage the menfolk. And she took such care of the books. Hadn't she expanded the collection? Going to estate sales and auctions. Buying up first editions of the classics. She had even managed to get a grant to build a new wing onto the library to house these wonderful books.

She had also built a secret room into the new wing. A room to hold the books she had sought out. The books of alchemy and chemistry. The books to make a special potion or two for Valentine's Day. She was in charge of the punch, after all.

The punch, the punch, the magical punch. She was singing to herself as she circled the remnants of the bonfire. Then she saw him. Her man. The only man left. The one she had done this for. The one the town had driven out. Her love, her life. Her obsession.

They met in the coals, clasping each other tight, lips fused together, tongues seeking and twining. His hand pulled her leg up to his waist. Picking her up, he slid in with a groan. She pulled his face down to hers, holding on to his neck and shoulders as he lowered her down. They came together and stayed together, twisting and straining and panting, consumed by the flames of their passion.

And consumed by the flames. She looked up, and screamed. The women of the town circled the fire, adding handfuls of wood and dried grass to rekindle the flames. Her man, her soul mate, held her down as she fought, sacrificing himself to ensure that she burned.