She’s on the hunt for heat.
With a candle in her hand she checks out every bonfire, every beacon out there, and every sign.
She reluctantly tries on skewers, but none fits.
Give her a piece of coal, and she’ll start doodling little figures: “Like this. To ashes”
No heat in daylight, no heat at night. Not a single spark of fire in eyes, in jokes, not even in hell.
She might send her last coin to the bottom and walk the planet from den to den.
Once the iceberg that she is gets thrown onto a bursting volcano, she will submit all of herself to fire like a true connoisseur, while swallowing her ice.