Disclaimer: all things Firefly/Serenity are the property of Whedon et al. I’m not making any money of this, just playing with his toys.

Speed of exactly 299,792,458 metres per second or 1,079,252,848.8 kilometres per hour or 186,282.397 miles per second or 670,616,629.384 miles per hour. Eight minutes from the Sun to Earth-That-Was (don’t blink).

Stars were filled with millions of bombs going boom millions of times causing radiation and flares. The flares were large flames (don’t touch - very hot!).

The Gun liked flame and how it kicked up, sputtered, kicked again then burned the dried leaves rolled into a cylinder (too stinky).

The Lady preferred the touch of light, shimmering, glowing, reflecting back the observer. Never knew what she knew, only what you knew (irritates Captain Mal).

The Man had seen the light and was not blinded. Saw something new, something better. Something full of inaccuracies and mistakes, but believed regardless (wrong Book).

The Shirt’s light had been someone else. Someone dark and passionate. Inflamed, like fire. Touch and don’t get burned. Get warmed and loved. Joined together to make the flame brighter.

The Gifted One’s light burned cold, hard. Blue flame hurt more than yellow. Needed the yellow, cheery light. The kind the Heart had and gave to all. Kind that filled you up and made you smile (like a teddy bear).

She was a little light. Buzz. Flick in and out. Never catch me. Can’t put me in a jar. Won’t be lost with my light.

His light was truth born of war. Enlightened and died.

“Hey now, li’l One.”

River looked up from the book.

“Why you got it so shadowy in here?” He reached for the switch and flicked it. “Gonna hurt yer eyes readin’ in the dark.” He sat in the pilot’s chair. “No proper way to be flyin’ a ship.”

“Not in the dark. Not anymore.”

Mal smiled. “That’s ‘cause the light’s on now, darlin’.”

River leaned back into the chair with her own smile. The light was being reborn.