Pyrographer

Simon sat at his desk, the finely carved and prepared slab of mahogany resting on the work space in front of him. He wasn't much of a woodworker, and so many of his pieces were commissioned in advance - it was more costly than if he could do it himself, but he was still able to push a profit from his work, so he didn't much mind. Besides, he'd much rather have the material reflect the beauty of what he made. He wasn't a fan of the idea that a skilled worker could make something beautiful out of something boring. It may have been true, but why limit one's self in such a manner when it wasn't necessary?

The flame sparked to life at the tip of his finger as he envisioned the design he was to burn into the wood. Within moments, flames covered the entirety of the wood, some of them lasting for only a mere moment before going out while others burned longer. Simon watched over it, ensuring that the flames never actually sat on the flammable surface, only floating just above its surface so that the heat would sear it. He watched as the flames extinguished themselves, piece by piece, leaving a smoking black stain in their place which made the form of a woman.

The flame at the tip of his finger remained, and he began to work on the finer details. Sweeping and stabbing with his flaming finger, he etched in the finer details of the woman, giving her more definition and realism. He made her eyes shine, her hair shimmer, he smoothed out her skin and gave her lips volume. He made the wood hold onto her very soul and essence, as though her image had been trapped within it. He had no need of a reference image - her very image had been seared into his memory, just as he had seared it into the wood.

The finer details took the better part of an hour, though the initial burning had taken only a matter of minutes. The flame on his finger never extinguished until it was done entirely. He sat back and admired the work for a long moment before standing up from his chair and lifting the large wood slab, moving it to a stack that he had sitting by the door.

The market would be opening in a few days, and he still had many more pieces to make. But it made for a fine living.

He had always said that he could live a peaceful life, even with the flame.