There was a heaving, brass-plated furnace in her ancestry; a people, as you know, who are unusual but not unlovable.
This oddity popped up in stories of her line. A burnished great-grandfather who spontaneously combusted. An aunt who could light stoves with a touch.
She had little to mark her burning past except, perhaps, hot skin, and a mental warmth (which could be ascribed to other things).
And so, little was thought of it, until she met a man who had some waterspout or lake djinn among his ancestors. They met and lived in steam.
Of course, we know now that furnace is a dominant trait, which explained the searing winds and bright, cloudless days that followed her everywhere.
When she left on a holiday, the rain clouds, indignant at their exclusion, returned. They sulked over the city until she came back, and burned them away.
(please forgive this unscheduled interruption. Normal programming will return in the next few days)
the book of good 