At the edge of the forest sat a small cottage. Made of stone and vine from generations past, its quaint and charming feel built a home for a young girl and her mother. The mother was well-renowned for her beauty; fair skin aglow, sharp blue eyes, and shiny dark waves that cascaded down her back. The villagers knew her well, heads turning to watch wherever she went.

“There she goes.”

“A loaf of bread and some eggs. As usual.”

“I wonder if she’ll come to the picnic tomorrow.”

“Do you think she’d agree to come to dinner?”

The whispers always followed. The villagers couldn’t seem to help it. They were enraptured with the woman who always seemed to emanate an ethereal glow. Even with her daughter at her side, the whispers never left them alone. In fact, they often got worse.

“Such a dull child.”

“Is it really hers?”

“If her mother is a clear crystal spring, she’s the dirty runoff stream.”

The girl tried her best to ignore them as her mother said. But there’s only so much one can take, and one day, after overhearing a particularly harsh comment, the girl ran home, tears streaming down her face. She collapsed beside the pond and stared into her tear-stricken reflection until her mother found her and they fell into an embrace.

“Why?” the girl cried. “Why can’t I be beautiful like you?”

“You are beautiful,” her mother said. “They just can’t see it yet.”

The girl shook her head. “Not like you. They love you.”

Seeing that her words were offering little comfort to her daughter, the woman stood and held out a hand.

“Come,” she said. “I’d like to show you something.”

The girl took the outstretched hand and stood, following her mother to the back of the cottage, where she opened a door that the girl had never seen before.

Warmth washed over the girl as she stepped through the doorway, finally slowing the flow of her tears. The room was round with walls of stone. It was empty, save for an ornate stone pedestal that stood in the center, containing a brightly burning fire. The flames seemed to come alive, dancing as if beckoning the girl closer. 

The woman greeted the fire like an old friend, intertwining her fingers with the flames. When she pulled her hand back, she held a single flame, which she carefully held out towards her daughter.

“Even the biggest fire starts with just a spark,” the woman whispered, pressing the flame into the girl’s palm.

The girl gasped as the fire seeped into her skin, a warmth greater than anything she’d ever known surging deep beneath her skin. A new light was born within her. She smiled. 

Her mother smiled back. “Now all you have to do is let it grow.”

“Thank you!” Overjoyed, the girl threw her arms around her mother and squeezed tightly. She was sure that everything would be different from then on.

For a time, it was. The villagers weren’t quite as cold to the girl as they once had been, sensing that something had changed. Some of the other kids even invited her to play. The girl was happy, nursing that small flame within her chest. She tried to be patient, to let it grow as her mother said it would. 

The villagers got used to the girl with a dim glow. Compared to her mother, she was still nothing. Just another soul wandering the village, often getting underfoot. The girl grew weary of their dismissal, impatient for them to once again take notice of the fire within her. So, when her flames remained stagnant, she found herself returning to the stone room while her mother was asleep.

The fire still danced upon the stone pedestal, gently welcoming the girl in once more. She approached with awe-filled eyes, entranced by the twinkling orange glow that washed over her. She reached out a hand as she had seen her mother do, and intertwined her fingers with the flames. She grasped a small piece of it, relishing as the wave of comforting warmth filled her. Her light was finally growing brighter.

As time passed, the girl tried to be content. She tried to nourish the flame inside of her, but nothing could compare to the fire. She found herself returning again and again, each time siphoning yet another piece of the fire for herself. As the flame grew within her, so did the girl. Her skin began to glow, her hair turned glossy and her eyes bright. 

“She’s become such a radiant girl,” the villagers remarked. These days, their heads all turned to watch the beautiful young woman as she twirled happily through the courtyard. She, rather than her mother, was the one who caught their eyes and filled their thoughts.

Still, after her mother went to sleep, the girl returned to the fire, promising to herself that this would be the last time. The flames flickered dangerously, threatening to extinguish at the slightest breeze. When had they become so small? Still, the girl couldn’t help but reach toward their familiarity. She needed them. The warmth they would offer her. Her fingers intertwined with the remaining flames, and they caressed her skin, as if to tell her it was okay. The comfortable warmth she’d grown accustomed to washed over her and joined the light within her. 

Except this time, no more flames remained on the pedestal. And instantly, the girl knew she’d done something she shouldn’t have. She ran to her sleeping mother, desperate to be consoled. But her mother, withered and grey, having already given everything she could, had already taken her last breath.