Aberdyf hates their local supervillain.

At least, that is the claim made the city. WANTED: FIREBLOOD, ALIVE. HER CAPTURE: $15,000 REWARD. The graffitis of Fireblood across the bricks, her slasher grin cut wide and true, like milk and honey in her teeth. The whispers of Fireblood's name on the streets, like a manic spectre giddy and giddier to reap.

Was there any surprise why? Fireblood is, like her name, a firebrand. She would do what she wanted, wherever and whenever she wanted.

"This is my show!" Fireblood cackled, that month before May. "An' I ain't letting y'all off easy."

Fireblood's glitter-bomb descended across Aberdyf. It resulted in many irritated businessmen, cursing at the incessant sparkles that would never get out of their suit, rounds of dry-cleaning be damned.

That was one of the many events Fireblood stole the city with. The Glitter Bomb. The Great Unleash of the Shelter Puppies. The Helping Grandmas Cross the Street in a Wicked Way Day. Her philosophy was tried and true: make chaos, and make it delightful.

The state didn't see it that way.

"We've had enough of Aberdyf's asinine villain. Bring someone in to finish her off."

That month after May, a new superhero came to town. Her name was Desolation and she was devastating. Dark, sculpted to perfection, with a nightingale necklace hanging from her throat. To call her destruction incarnate would be underselling it. The state knew her as a solitary spectre, a thing more machine than man. If there was anyone that would put a stop to Fireblood's schemes, it would be her.

Fireblood's first scheme after Desolation's arrival was that of flowers. She bought a store's worth of roses and threw them out on the streets, spelling out a "HI, DESOLATION!!!" out in the road. Upon the next street was: "CAN WE BE FRIENDS?"

There was never an answer. But the next scheme came—this time in June—and Fireblood made stars. She decorated the skyscrapers and the antennas with strands and strands of smiley stars. When night came, the glow doused the night: like fireflies.

(They tried to get Fireblood for public desecration of property. But the processing papers suddenly went missing, the next day. To this day, nobody knows who did it; but there were rumours of the flash of a dark cape, twisting out of the precinct.)

July. Firework displays. August. Turtle Day. September. Light Up The Skylight.

Each was attended by Aberdyf and Fireblood herself, her grin and gloat the same: "This is my show!" But there was something a little different about Fireblood's antics. They became extra showy.

The fireworks contorted into hearts and grins and other ridiculous shapes. The turtles carried on them crayon hearts on their shells, every single one of the hundreds. The skylight spelled out an announcement. THIS IS FIREBLOOD SPEAKING, it said. THANKS FOR BEIN' MY FRIEND!

September drew the attention of the state. They called in Aberdyf to ask about Desolation. Whether she was faring well against their most notorious villain. Why, Aberdyf replied. Desolation couldn't have done a better job.

On October, Desolation didn't show up to Fireblood's grand Free Candy To All villainy. Desolation was, in fact, sick at home: nursing a cough and a terrible case of flashbacks. (Tragic backstory-related; don't ask.)

Upon the next day, a sizeable stash of Fireblood's own gains from the event was missing. (Some say they saw Fireblood enter a house, to which a winded cough came from, with four rucksack-fulls of candy bags. Fireblood came out empty-handed with a stupid grin on her lips.)

November was the resumption of Fireblood and Desolation's usual dance. That is: Fireblood showed up to dazzle the whole of Aberdyf with her voice through an extra-sonic mic, and Desolation, as always, was conspicuously missing.

Curiously, November was when Fireblood's catchphrase changed. "This is my show!" turned into "This is our show!" Few out of the city took note. They believed it to be of little importance. Barely worth Aberdyf's headlines. But Aberdyf knew that Fireblood had fallen, and fallen deep.

In December, Fireblood made cardboard boxes of fake presents and left them under Aberdyf's many, many trees. In December, a dark hero with a nightingale necklace finally descended between Fireblood's path.

In her hands was a rose, twined with a tag.

"Happy holidays, Fireblood."

Thank you for your friendship — Desolation.

So it is fair to say: Aberdyf hates their local supervillain. They hate her so that there is a celebration every year, called Phoenix Season. There, artists take the streets like vigilantes take to patrol. Their brushes twist on the bricks. From the events 12-months past, they create. The stupid-wide grin. The sparkle in her eyes. The pretty mania of her mouth. The fireworks going off. The eureka insanities. The graffitis of Fireblood's dance.