In our father’s final days, my sister became the sun itself —
steady, burning, unyielding.
She carried him through the darkness with hands that never faltered,

and a heart that refused to let go.

This piece is for her —
and for every carer who has carried more than they should.
For the ones who sit beside the dying and call it love,
for the hands that hold, the hearts that endure —
This flame is yours.

You are the daughters and sons of the sun.
The keepers of what cannot be extinguished.
The fire that outlives the storm.

— Fireheart