Lauren Amato ’29
Hanna sat at the table, little hands clutched around the golden fork that was too big for her. Her silk dress fell loosely and simply on her legs. She was too small to wear anything more significant or extravagant. Hanna watched her father laugh with the other men in the room. The laugh rolled over the walls and she fought to cover her ears as more laughter erupted. Hanna set down her fork and stumbled out of her chair. Feeling a sense of disappointment in herself, she stalked up to her father, “Father, may I be excused?” she said with her eyes down in her most polite voice. Hanna had been grateful enough that he had let her into the room to begin with, as it was not customary for women in the South to be in any meeting involving the government. The reason she was there was only because she clung to her twin, Leo, and they both protested to let Hanna in. Her father looked down at her, narrowing his eyes, “Yes Hanna you may be excused,” he said in a condescending tone, “Do you understand now why young girls do not come into this meeting: their minds are too fragile and it is awfully boring, isn’t it?” She nodded and looked down at the floor. At eight years old Hanna did not understand why the way her father talked and looked at her made her angry, but it did. The candlelight in the room felt too bright as she stalked out of the majestically golden room. She walked down the dark hallway to her room. She was angry with herself. It wasn’t the laughter that made her want to leave, or the dirty looks from the men as they stepped around her, as if she were an insect that they didn’t want to kill but didn’t want to keep. No, Hanna left because she felt trapped in that little room and even as she walked down this dark hallway, she felt trapped by the walls. It felt like they closed in on her. She began to run. Hanna never liked the dark; she had the impending feeling that something was always coming for her from the shadows. She looked behind her and whether it was her imagination or real, she swore she saw something moving in the dark abyss of the hallway. She moved her run to a sprint. taking turns down other corridors that would lead her to her room. In her frantic run, Hanna had managed to trip on an outstretched corner and fell, landing on her hands and knees. She looked behind her, convinced the shadows were now going to come for her. But it wasn’t a scary shadow monster that she saw. It was orange light that flooded down the walls, illuminating every dark crevice that she feared, until the whole hallway looked as if it had been lit by thousands of candles. Hanna turned around and looked up. Standing before her was a lovely woman with long hair that looked like fire itself. She glowed, and Hanna watched as the fire moved around her. She watched as it engulfed her, covering the Woman in moving flames. Hanna couldn’t believe it was a person. The creature knelt so it was eye level with Hanna. She saw her face; her eyes glowed a bright yellow, and she brought her hands up to Hanna’s face. Although the Woman’s hands looked like fire itself, they did not burn her face. The Woman wiped her tears from her eyes and said, “do not cry, child of mine. I will keep him away,” as her hands moved she spoke in a comforting whisper.. Stroking Hanna’s red hair, “he is no smaller than you, do not fear him.” The Woman spoke in a language that was thick and ancient but to Hanna’s surprise she knew every word the Woman said. She cradled her, holding her tight to her fiery body. But Hanna did not burn, she did not cry, she felt safe: at home. That was the first time she spoke to the goddess of the flame, and in the middle of the night when Hanna felt like she was the only one awake, she would light a candle and watch the flame dance and grow. Hanna never feared the shadows again after that night.