The Fire Maiden

The story of how the Fire Maiden came to be, the trials she endured, and the hope she became.

Once upon a time there was a girl. She was twelve years old. She was a desperate girl. She was a hungry girl. And she lived on the streets of the city, begging for scraps of food. It was a tearing, heavy, burning existence. Pure agony. And she would do anything, anything at all, to have food in her stomach and a soft place to lay her head.

And one day a man came, and promised to give her just that. He strode towards her on his horse. His clothes were made of fine velvet fabrics, and were bright red, deep green, and rich blue. He got off his horse, and stood in front of the young twelve year old girl. He took her by the hand. And he remarked on what immense warmth she had in her hand. He decreed that a girl with such warmth as her should not be starving out on the streets.

He took her to his friends, who were all richly adorned and feasting in a great hall. There was delicious, mouth-watering food laid out on the table, and the decadent and succulent smells of the feast made the young girl even hungrier. The rich feasters told the girl that they would give her the food from their feast, if she would let each of them take from her some of her warmth, and let them keep it for themselves.

She felt the hunger in her gut. And she knew that she would do anything, anything at all, to get food. Especially such hearty, decadent food that was something the likes of which she had never dreamed of. She agreed, for she had no other choice, not truly.

One by one the finely-dressed people walked up to the little girl, who was scraped raw and empty with hunger. And they laid their hands upon her head, draining her of her warmth, the warmth she had carried inside of herself for her entire life.

This hurt more than anything the child had ever felt before. It felt as though her body, her soul, her mind, her heart, every single part of her being was being burned up like a match stick. She felt as though she was being drowned in the most frigid, freezing, screaming water, her body weighed down by many rough stones.

She became weaker and weaker. But still, she knew that she needed to hold on. Even as the panic, the terror, seeped in. Even as she felt herself being stripped away from everything she was. Even as she felt herself being stripped away from life itself, she knew she had to go on.

Because she was hungry. She was so hungry and she would do anything for food. Even as she felt herself, felt her body, felt her soul getting weaker and weaker, she still let the feasters walk up to her and feast upon her warmth. And she held herself very still and let them take what they wanted out of her.

Eventually, they stopped. And they gave her a hefty bowl of food, filled with rich and savoury things the likes of which she had never tasted before. And they sent her out on her way. She thanked them, even though absolutely every crevice of herself felt like it was emptied out and filled with stinging poison.

She sat down outside the feast hall. And she ate the food. And it was every bit as delicious as she had thought.

And yet, she was weak. She was so incredibly weak. Because all of the warmth of her life had been drained from her, and without warmth she would not be able to stay alive. No matter how much she ate, without the warmth she carried inside of herself, she would not be able to hold on to life.

And so, she died. Outside the feast hall, she died. And her emaciated corpse lay in front of the feasting hall, on the ground.

And deep inside the ground, far under the girl, the bones of the earth stirred. The bones that were buried under the earth. The bones of the dead, for generations and generations before her. The bones of all the people who had been oppressed and abandoned and hurt. All these bones, they felt her dead body hit the ground, cold and haunted. And they were filled with a rage. A rage of generations upon generations. A rage of spirits unnumbered. A rage that was hotter than the sun.

They pooled their rage together, and gave it to one skeleton. The skeleton of a twelve year old boy who had died of starvation merely twenty years ago. This young boy climbed up out of the earth and kneeled in front of the corpse of the little girl. He held the rage in front of him, and placed it into the heart of the girl.

The burning heat of this rage brought warmth back into the girl, and she came alive again. She thanked the boy, and thanked all the bones under the earth. Rage burned inside her. But a rage that came from love. And a love that came from rage. And she knew that with this rage, she would never die. She would walk this earth forever, unconquerable.

The first thing she did was look for a large wooden branch. This she found under a large oak tree. She took the branch and put it inside of her heart. The fire that was burning inside her heart spread its reach to the branch as well, and soon the branch was on fire too. The branch was on fire, but the wood was not being consumed. The wood would never be consumed.

She carried the burning branch in her hand as a torch, the heat of the fire reaching all around her. She walked the world, carrying the burning branch of fire with her wherever she went. With it, she would bring warmth to the people who like her were suffering through the consequences of a world where people do not have what they need.

She brought the fire with her everywhere, and the fire brought its warmth to all the people who had lost their own warmth, replenishing it. Sharing her warmth with the people did not drain her of her own warmth. Because now, she was sharing her warmth as an equal. And those who were sharing her warmth with her were doing so out of love, not out of a desire to possess. It was not an exchange, but rather a ritual. And together, they restored what had been taken from themselves and each other.

For society took and continues to take many people’s warmth, just as it took the little girl’s. But she will be here always, restoring what has been taken from her and restoring what has been taken from all of us. For the feasters had taken her warmth. And many people take other peoples’ warmth. But with the help of the bones below the earth, she will replenish it all, she will bring back what was stolen.

And so she walks on, the branch of wood burning in her hand.

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