Thousands of years ago a soul was born. She came with magic in her veins, and fire in her soul.
She was nurtured, she was loved, and as she grew her fire grew.
Passion filled her being, life poured from her soul.
But then, she was hurt.
She experienced a pain so deep she could not understand.
How could darkness exist in her life full of light?
Her soul’s fire dimmed.
Her veins magic receded, and fear found its way into her heart.
She cried and her tears watered the earth; life bloomed where they landed, but the pain did not leave, and she cried alone.
This soul had a daughter – a beautiful child born with magic in her veins and fire in her soul.
She was nurtured, she was loved, and as she grew her fire grew.
Passion filled her being. Life poured from her soul.
But then she was also hurt.
The pain was so vast, and so foreign; she could not understand.
How could darkness exist in her life full of light?
Her soul’s fire dimmed. The magic receded, and fear found its way into her heart.
She cried, and her tears watered the dirt. Where they landed, life sprouted; flowers and blossoms sprang from the earth.
Her mother held her while she cried, and her mother cried with her. She cried tears she’d not yet shed, tears buried too long; they were tears of her own pain, and tears for her daughter.
The women cried together.
But no others knew. And none understood.
The fire in both flickered – faltering, breathless – for they both carried the pain of somebody else’s darkness.
Time passed and a granddaughter was born. Magic flooded her veins and fire burned in her soul.
But ice slowed the magic, and shadows dimmed the flames; for darkness now lived in the corners of her world.
This child was nurtured, she was loved, and as she grew her fire grew; it pushed against the shadows in her soul, forcing light into the dark.
But then she was hurt.
The pain came like a storm, drowning in its intensity, and the shadows? They flared up in her soul, extinguished her flames. She felt it all – a pain so cruel and ugly, so dark and vast, it had no place in her world.
But it lived in her world. Another’s darkness became her own.
And she felt it. She knew.
She understood.
She recognized these shadows and this darkness. They lived in her soul.
Her fire fled.
Her magic rescinded.
And veins filled with ice.
Her tears fell; where they fell, they watered the earth, and from them, life sprouted. Flowers bloomed, but the blossoms drooped, and the leaves never unfurled.
The earth felt her pain, and the flowers wept with her.
The mother found the young woman wrapped in her pain. She held her close, these women of flame. Her mother found her, and she wept with them both, for she knew they’d both just now buried their worth.
The three of them felt it – this pain was too deep, the darkness too vast.
Their magic had dimmed and fear made home in their breasts.
The world should have wept, the loss was so great.
But the world did not know.
None saw the pain and none understood; the magic was caged, the fire restrained, gone from these beautiful women of flame.
The mothers had daughters whose daughters had daughters. Each child perfect, born of magic and flame…and a heavy darkness that suppressed them both.
Years turned to decades.
Decades to centuries.
Time passed, and the fire they held fought for its life, but though daughters were born, the flames could not light.
Daughters became sisters, each born to the pain, each seeking a way to relight the flame.
Generations of tears dried up and stopped falling.
Generations of women, silently calling.
The earth remained still, no blossoms she bore, for she mourned with the women whose tears fell no more.
But the fire was not lost, and the magic remained. For though they were silent, they clung to their flame.
Many years later, a young soul was born – a woman with ice in her veins and shadows in her soul. These shadows she carried were not hers alone. They were the shadows of her ancestors, their grief never flown.
She was raised to be cautious, raised to know pain. The shadows she held buried her flame.
But then, in the darkness, the pain came like a knife. So great was the grief, she knew it would take her life.
In the middle of hell, when she drowned in the shadows, a flame found its way, a flicker, a spark.
The spark lit the fire and forced out the pain. And she knew – that spark had relit the flame.
This woman, she rose, and her veins filled with magic, for she’d seen the path, she just had to take it.
Her flame lit the darkness, it shed light on the fear, and she knew: the world – its light, its love, all were meant to be hers.
She cried – tears of release, tears of relief – and her tears watered the earth. Where they fell, plants sprang forth, at her feet blossoms began to unearth.
This woman, she cried, and she cried alone. But her flame flickered brightly, for she no longer mourned.
She gave birth to a daughter, a beautiful child born with ice in her veins and shadows in her soul. But in the midst of her being, a flame flickered on.
She was raised to be cautious, raised to know pain – and raised to know she had magic in her veins.
When she was hurt, she knew it was coming. But the pain could not kill the flame in her being.
She cried, and her tears did not hit the earth. She gathered them into herself and used them for her own rebirth.
Her tears warmed her soul. The ice fled her veins. She rose in her freedom, a spark to a flame.
The fire grew.
The magic spread.
And she knew.
She had a daughter, a beautiful child born with magic in her veins and fire in her soul.
She was raised with passion, taught to have courage, and trained to have strength.
And then she was hurt.
But she knew, and she understood.
She felt the pain of thousands before her. She carried the screams of those who had borne her.
And she knew.
The burden of silence was theirs no longer. Hers was the voice, hers was the body, hers was the soul – the cry of thunder, a deafening roar, as thousands before her remained silent no more.
Their pain poured from her lips, their screams ripped from her being, and the world could no longer stand by unseeing.
She rose from the ashes of the pain she had shed, a warrior, a goddess, a crown on her head.
Her body alight with the flames of her passion, her feet coaxing life to a world too long ashen.
The world looked upon her, their eyes open wide, for they saw, and they knew, she had nothing to hide.