This is day six of my watch, and she is just as exotic as she was yesterday, and every day since I began my vigil. Today she wears a green satin shirt with wide sleeves that billow as she moves. Henna snakes up her arm, it’s stain darker than the brown of her skin. She’s beautiful, but it’s not her looks that transfix me so. It’s the way she carries herself.

The girl moves with such confidence, bordering on temerity. Her presence gives color to a dull room, and she knows it. She is light as it fractures through a prism. Her effect is mesmerizing, and nearly impossible to ignore.

This self-assurance of hers, which could easily be used as a weapon, is instead used to lift up those around her. She draws others from their shells with sweet smiles and delicately placed compliments, until they too are a force to be reckoned with.

There are some who fear her abilities. They say it’s not good for girls to be this bold, not in our world where confidence is mistaken for impudence. What they avoid admitting is that they aren’t afraid for her sake. No, they are afraid for theirs. They’re petrified of how her light changes their lives. It frightens them to think of how they’d have to reshape themselves to fit into the world she would create.

So instead of acknowledging their own anxieties, they project them onto her in an attempt to stifle her flames. To prevent her from growing into the raging wildfire she’s destined to become. However, she is a star whose light shines long after it’s source is gone, and try as they might, it cannot be dimmed.