Burning was different to cutting.  The results - the ugly wounds, the hideous scarring, were the same.  But the logic (illogic?) behind them was different.

Cutting was barely painful; burning was agony.  Hot metal pressed against my flesh, sometimes the naked flame melting my skin.  I would watch it change colour...

first wrinkling as the blister formed...

then turning pure white...

then a hard crusty yellow....

flowing into an ashy brown.

I learnt every degree of burning, the meaning of the term "full thickness".  The pain would continue long into the night, long after my weapons had been put away.  Occasionally, the blisters would break as I slept, soaking the bed sheets.  The wounds would get infected, and take weeks and weeks to heal.

In some broken, tormented part of my brain, burning stood for

CLEANSING

PURITY

It was the ultimate punishment, to walk through that white hot burning fire and emerge stronger, braver, more scarred.  It was the ultimate pain.

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