Dancing with the twitching energy of the lightning bolt, the whole world phases into focus as her firey dragon dance fades. Twirling and flipping; which pole is which? Left crossed over to right, and does it really matter? Would she complete the circuit if she turned around?
White on red, visually bold, She’s carved out of the spaces between the vibrations, made out of nothing but your tendency to fill in holes. Is there anything there beneath that? How much of the whole word is defined by your will looking at it and putting names and patterns to it, anyway?
Look at that smirk, look at that lack of costume. Shameless, really – she has nothing she wants to hide. Ever so confident in herself. On her belly is a tattoo, stylized into mystery – is it a flying serpent? A dragon? A thunderbird? that flies up her body from her loins, towards the crackle of energy about her head. Almost like a parody of a sperm fertilizing an egg. (If you’re asking whether you should have some kind of Tantric ceremony soon, the answer is “yes”.)
If she lets go of those two sources of radiant energy, will she vanish? Will they stop being held apart and combine, covering the whole card with interference patterns? Fire’s wisdom is to consume and destroy, after all! But it’s so much fun to dance wildly until you’re burnt out.