Part of her wanted to think and dream about Joshua, part of her took offense at it.
Was this what love was all about? How was it for Cindy, who changed her boyfriends like others changed their clothes, who was constantly happy with one or the other without suffering from love sickness or anything close to a broken heart?
More than this discovery that she could care about a man and actually want him so painfully much, one question was repeating itself over and over in her head.
Who am I?
She wanted to give herself a name, but there was none to be found.
She couldn’t be a witch. Witches weren’t supposed to have fire inside them. Witches knew magic, could cast spells, and were full of ancient, secret knowledge.
She couldn’t be a mere pyromaniac, somebody who was happy with knowing and loving fire, or an arsonist, causing fires and distress in the crudest ways.
She couldn’t be some otherworldly being like an alien… although sometimes this seemed the most plausible explanation. Then she thought of Joshua and how he would have to be a totally different species with his ice core, and how it was unlikely that two kinds of aliens had invaded earth and left freaky offspring behind.
So, what was she?
Mutant and proud, like the X-Men?
She liked it, but it left her with as little explanations as no classification at all.
Playing with Fire (Book 1 of the FIRE Trilogy) Page 15