Like the great masters of the Renaissance, Fleur considered himself to be no less of an artist, no less a creator of timeless beauty and no less a conduit of creative force. Unlike those worthies, he did not express his soul through the medium of crude pigments smeared upon rough and vulgar squares of cloth.
For Fleur, every constructed edifice of any sort served as the potential canvas for his genius; genius that he applied through the inspired ministrations of his most beloved instrument: fire.
An artisan of flame, Fleur possessed the knowledge to create it in any of the hues of the rainbow, through the mere introduction of chemical magic: strontium chloride for red, sodium chloride for yellow, copper sulfate for green, copper chloride for blue…these and dozens more were his to command.
He trailed the calcium chloride out and set the match to it, reveling in the orgy of apricot and cantaloupe, of carrot and coral, of peach and tangerine and so many more that were the wondrous nuances, the subtle shadings, the delightful permutations of his most favored of flames: orange.