“The package had no return address, but she recognized the handwriting.”

Another package from Tiger Express usually meant she drunkenly ordered more crap she didn't need. What would it be this time? A tiny futon for her fairy garden? A cute, moss themed bath rug? The hung over yet newly excited woman prepped the box cutter for some slicing. Though that's when she noticed it wasn't from Tiger Express at all. Peeping at the delivery sticker she began to investigate. "No return address, huh?" she mumbled as she fumbled around with the brown package. But that curly, purple ink. The adorably circle-dotted letter I. It was awfully familiar. Too familiar. But why?

She felt the heft of the package with both hands. Then she lifted it up to her nose and inhaled. The strong stench of gunpowder and kerosene wafted through the brown paper. She knew who had sent this.

A wicked grin crept onto her face, and she let the joy in her veins carry her away. Already, she imagined it: naught left but ashes, and a debt repaid. It was time, then. Time to set the night ablaze.

The accelerant assaulted her nostrils but in a good way, spreading over walls as she sprayed it from the canister she had brought. The fire that had given her these scars had never been so hot.

When it was over, with nothing left of the walls but ash and stone and metal innards, she stood perfectly still outside the ruins. A hot breeze blew cinders around her, caressing her hair. She did not sway. Her unblinking gaze, for the first time in a long time, was ice cold.