It starts with a girl. It always starts with a girl.

She presents herself as unafraid but she is fearful or we know or suspect that she will become so as she ages. As her innocence fades, wears thin. As the eyes of men and boys weigh upon her bones. The judgment. The lust.

She meets a stranger. She is enlightened, emboldened.

She learns why she is special.

(Be wary of people who tell you you are special. Tell her that. But you can’t tell her, because you are writing her. She belongs to you after all.)

She doesn’t know what she’s capable of.

She is 11.

She loves the woods.

She is at home there.

She is the one who saves everyone.

She saves herself. She saves her father. She saves her mother.

Saves the town. The world.

(Maybe that is going too far. No. It’s not too far. She saves the world.)

It starts with a girl.

It starts with a girl in the woods.

Her heart is big and open for now.

It always starts there. With a girl in the woods.

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