Dinah worked whatever job paid the rent; careers were reserved for kids from the suburbs. There was a sizable market for someone like her. Performance art was one of the few jobs available to humans, and it wasn't very popular among the skilled and the educated. People like Dinah could often be found on street corners, telling a story of sending a message; it wasn't hers, of course. Someone else made the art, she only embodied it.
Today she was wreathed in flame. Dinah wasn't sure what being set of fire "represented", but she didn't care. Besides, the healing she received would be more than she could normally afford, which was a rare treat.
A few passerby did worriedly stop to check on her, but most realized it was a piece and flew past. They probably stood no chance against a real emergency. She screamed, and waited for it to be over.
Prompt: art, found, story, fire, treat