prompt: "holy fire"
The coastline of Praistigia Cliffs is lit with the warm glow of bonfire after bonfire, a bright yellow blush of flames against the dark blue sky followed by plumes of gray smoke. A mile-long stretch on the edge of the cliffs is dotted with evenly spaced pyres, towering well above the horizon; and everywhere you look, there is someone waiting their turn to step up.
One at a time, the citizens of Dusk are encouraged to throw their worries into the fire. These might be relationship problems, anxieties about the future, the weight of losing a loved one, or any other personal griefs, most often written down on slips of paper or as full-blown letters and tossed on the pyre to burn away.
But often even heavier things must be dealt with. Sometimes, it’s said, when the truly guilt-ridden step up for their turn, ghosts of the past will take form in the smoke—especially those spirits with unfinished business.
