The entrance of an abandoned building in France, thick with the smell of acrid smoke. Beyond the worn-out walls, a thin matchstick flame flickers. At the sudden sound of a presence, the man playing with fire looks up, and the burning match slips through his fingers.

Flames begin to spread over the matchbox fallen on the floor, but he fixes his gaze on you as if he doesn't care.

It's... a lie... this must be a lie... There's no way anything could be more beautiful than fire...

Who are you, to make all my flames go out like this?...