Fire doesn't care if it burns wood, pig fat or the flesh from your body. Like this knife it has no preference at all. In all this world it is as blind as you will be just an hour from now, when your atoms are just atoms. Every part of your body is no more than a borrowed element forged in a star, and it's time for you to glow hot again – light up the night with the fat under your pampered skin. Burning can be fast or slow. I'm thinking slow, from your toes. In a house fire the smoke puts you out first, it's a kindness I suppose. I'm not kind. You thought you could reform me, but you see it is I that will reform you. Perhaps remodel is a better term, or release. I'll give you a few moments to talk me out if it.