Copper Chloride

The flames bring out her true identity. The acid vaporises on contact with the blue flame. The vapours do not have a scent. They have a certain experience about them. They do not smell. They burn, almost in retaliation to the flame in which they have been thrust. I inhale their anger, and feel the pain of inhaling that anger. I feel the pain of coughing it up. It burns me, my lungs and throat protesting this injustice.
But the pain of it's anger is soon replaced by the awe of her beauty. It only takes a moment for her to show her true colours. The flames of orange step down with a flutter to her majesty, this spectre cloaked in green. Her clothing wavers and blows about, this beautiful fabric, fit for the most beautiful of ghosts, shimmering in the ether, the light playing off the folds. The heat burns brighter and brighter still, until she cannot contain herself. She does something beautiful. She shows her hair. Her unveiled visage is something spectacular to behold. Pure, untainted, burning white flows relentlessly from her, twisting and blowing about like a windy autumn's day.
She takes the appearance of a comet falling to earth, her hair and fabric blowing and twisting in the nether, softly murmuring as she descents, as the crescendo reaches it's end. She gathers up her hair, and walks away from my sight, perhaps to return again someday.


Copper chloride's light spectra is a really beautiful thing. Pictures can't describe it. I quite like my chemistry class.