Morgana skipped along beside her grandfather as they went from store to store. The baker. The butcher. The sweet shop.

She came out of that last one with a fat lollipop in her hand and a smile on her face. Grandfather was a kind man. Not everyone was as lucky as she was.

Morgana, her parents, and her grandparents lived in an apartment inside the wall, where they could always count on the lawmen to keep them safe and secure. They all followed the doctrine of the king and, by both extension and necessity, worshipped him. In this way, he kept his kingdom in order.

In this way, he kept his kingdom in the dark.

Nobody knew the things the king knew. All that mattered was that they thought they did. All that mattered was that it seemed they knew what to expect from day to day.

All of them protected. All of them the same.

Only Morgana wasn’t the same.

She couldn’t figure out exactly why, though. And nobody seemed willing to answer her questions for her.

Why did the birds stop to listen when she sang a tune? Why did the apples fall directly into her hands from the trees? Why did she dream such fantastical dreams, with beasts and giants and dragons? And why, when she looked up into the night sky, did the stars seem to rain down on her at her will?

Morgana was five-years-old. Her nine-year-old sister, Eveline, was prim and proper, concerned with fitting in with the girls her age.

She stayed as far away from Morgana as she could.

Her little brother, Aemon, was tough and dirty, though a stout little bugger and a big heart, too. They would play together outside the castle walls during picnics their mother would bring them on. Together, they were great warriors, princes and princesses, knights and maidens.

Eveline never wanted to play. Instead, she would pick up a parasol and follow her friends down toward the lake, then scream as they dipped their toes into the frigid water.

As if it were a surprise.

Morgana thought Eveline was pretty stupid.

The solstice was near, and the kingdom was awash with color and cheer as everyone waited for the longest day of the year. It was the day that didn’t have an end, a day with no night at all. Of course, the days of summer were already quite long, but tomorrow the sun would only get close to the horizon, and it would not dip beneath it, not even for a second.

This was Morgana’s fifth solstice. Her mother had looked upon her with concern and confusion every year since that very first. What other children created sparks at the bottoms of their feet when they were excited? A fit of giggles could render one’s house burnt to the ground in a giant explosion of flame and happiness.

There was nothing for it, though, but a pair of sturdy leather boots. They weren’t enough to block the sparks completely, but they did render her gleeful moods less deadly.

In one hand, she held her lollipop; in the other, Grandfather’s old, wrinkly palm. And she hopped from foot to foot beside him, little sparks flying out behind her.

In the beginning, her mother and father had tried to hide her oddities, for showing things like magic in the kingdom could be a boon or a sentence.

Magic.

They whispered the word to one another when no one was around. When they hopelessly tried to think of a way to make her normal. That, or a way to flee.

But imagine fleeing from such a blessed life.

They could send her away, a thought always in the backs of their minds.

Morgana didn’t know the details about what her family discussed when she wasn’t around. During these conversations, a heavy wooden door would shut the three children out, and while Eveline would stay close and press her ear to the door, Morgana and Aemon would head off to the kitchen to bother the cook.

A charmed life. Though how could she have known it at just five?

Grandfather led her through the town as he gathered up provisions for the evening, the lollipop an early birthday present. Together, they walked to the town square in the bright summer sun and sat at the grand fountain.

It wasn’t a stuffy old fountain like one might have found in other kingdoms; this one was bright and barefoot-friendly. Morgana kicked off her boots and let her little feet soak in the water. A chill went through her, but then she laughed and began to splash with the other children.

The other children, while mostly good and kind-natured, looked at her quizzically, for Morgana did not merely play in the fountain. She orchestrated it like a great composer might, commanding it with her imagination to rise and fall in great spouts and splashes. The children’s protective mothers and nannies scooped them up and dragged them away.

But Morgana wasn’t a fool.

She let the water fall and walked up to where Grandfather sat, putting her lollipop onto the stone ledge as she joined him.

“Why do they dislike me, Grandfather?”

He looked down at her.

“They are afraid of you, dear,” he said, “because you are extraordinary.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that there isn’t another in the entire kingdom who is like you.”

She thought about this for a moment.

“But aren’t all of us different?”

He shook his head sadly.

“Not so different as you. You have a gift. Have you not noticed?”

“I notice,” she said. “But why is that bad?”

“They are jealous, child. And not just the other children; the adults are more jealous than anyone else.”

She considered this, wringing her wet hands together, and looked up at one last, cautious mother who was letting her toddler play in the water well away from where they sat.

“I suppose I might be jealous, too,” she finally said. “Nobody else can make sparks fly like me.”

She beamed up at him, and he smiled down at her.

“You’re quite right about that.”

They sat by the fountain for some time, and though eventually it filled with the happy laughter of children again, Morgana did not go back into the water.

Grandfather looked at his watch and got up from the fountain, cracking his back as he stood up straight.

“Ooh,” he said. “I’m getting older.”

Morgana laughed, then got up to take his hand. She kept the lollipop in her mouth and grabbed her boots with her other hand.

They walked back toward their apartment, through the market, and down the slim alleyways that snaked across the city. When they arrived, Grandfather opened the door for her, and she walked inside, her feet dirty now from her trek atop the cobblestones. He put down his bag and removed his boots. Morgana snatched up his purchases and ran down the hallway toward the kitchen.

He might’ve called to her, but he would’ve been too late anyway.

“Morgana!” her mother bellowed.

Morgana handed the bag to the cook and went out to meet her mother.

“Hi, Mama,” she said and opened her arms for a hug.

But her mother pulled her arms away and looked down at him sharply.

“Your feet are a mess. Sit down right here, and don’t move an inch.”

Morgana sat and looked at one of her feet. Mother was right; they were filthy, but she wasn’t sure if she should be ashamed or not.

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Then she looked up, back through the hallway, toward the front door.

Her boots lay forgotten in the entryway.

Yes, shame seemed like the right emotion.

She took a deep breath and let it out again. Then, sensing imminent punishment, she chomped down as hard as she could onto her lollipop and crunched the hard candy until it was all gone.

Nothing for Mother to take.

Mother came around the corner bearing a square, white cloth soaked in water, then knelt down with Morgana.

“You must keep your boots on at all times, Morgana,” her mother warned.

She picked up one of her feet and began to scrub. Morgana laughed, and a jet of sparks immediately erupted from the bottom of the foot Mother was trying to clean.

“Morgana,” she scolded.

“Mama,” Morgana giggled. “I can’t help it. You’re tickling me!”

She rolled onto her back and laughed, sparks flying. Her mother slapped the cloth down onto the wood floors.

“Fine, then. Do it yourself.”

“Oh, Mama, no,” she cried. She loved it when her mother touched her, even if it was just a rough cleansing of her feet. She touched her so infrequently.

But Mother wasn’t playing. She stood up and walked away, leaving Morgana lying on the floor, heartbroken.

She sat up, took up the rag, and started to scrub.

* * *

Though the hour was growing late, it didn’t feel like it to Morgana. She looked out the window at the children down in the street, ribbons in their hair and big balloons tied to their wrists, as they headed toward the castle gates.

They would be celebrating at the lake, the best place in the kingdom to watch the sun dip, but not touch, the flat horizon over the water.

Morgana pushed the potatoes around on her plate, too eager to get moving to eat her food. Besides, there would be cookies and cake and all manner of sweets waiting near the water. She’d snuck a look into Grandfather’s grocery bags from the night before. He thought he was hiding the candy from her, but of course, she knew about it.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the family gathered at the front door to put on their shoes. Aemon was already asleep in Father’s arms, late as it was, but she’d give him a poke when the time came.

She was so excited she couldn’t stop prancing from foot to foot, little sparks flying out through the bottom of her boots.

But they were little, and Mother allowed them without reproach.

Now that it was time to go, they were all growing excited. Today, the longest day of the year, they would all shout and dance as the midnight hour passed by, and tomorrow the parents would sleep late while the children looked for forgotten sweets in their pockets.

Eveline wore her best blue dress, white ruffles around all the edges. Morgana figured the dress would be hers one day, just as the yellow one she had on now had been passed down.

That was okay, though. Morgana wasn’t fixed on buying new things like Eveline was. She was more interested in the world around her, especially outside the walls. Critters of every type crawled around out there; so much to explore.

As the family left the apartment and Mother locked the door behind her, a strange duo happened to be walking by.

“Earnest,” a man said, speaking to her father.

Father gave Aemon to Mother, and he held out a hand to shake.

“Hello, Barden,” he said. “Nice to see you on such a night.”

“You as well.”

There was something about this man that made Morgana nervous. He was so formal, and she got the impression that he wouldn’t be the sort to tolerate sparks flying out from her boots. That, and there was a boy beside him, maybe twelve years old. She couldn’t decide if he looked unhappy or scared.

But she understood.

“This is my son, Zahn,” the man said.

Father held out his hand to shake Zahn’s, and the boy stuck his out obediently.

“Nice to meet you, Sir,” he said.

Zahn looked at the children, but then his eyes landed on Morgana. He squinted, sizing her up.

And suddenly, she knew. He had magic, too, whatever that was. She looked down at his feet and noticed that he had on tight leather boots, odd for summer weather. She wondered how big the sparks were that flew from those wooden soles.

She smiled up at him, a smile that he did not return. She took a step back and grasped her mother’s hand.

The adults spoke for a few moments, all gibberish to her. But this boy, with his stiff stature and sharp eyes, had her mesmerized. She started to feel drowsy, and she wondered if the hour really was getting to be too late for her.

But no. A moment later, the two men broke apart, and Zahn was pulled in another direction by his father. Her eyes popped wide open, and she was suddenly as awake as she could be. She frowned, watching Zahn as he walked away. He looked back once, and she felt a jolt of surprise. Then, they were gone.

She dropped her mother’s hand and skipped over to her father.

“Father, who was that man?” she asked.

He shuffled Aemon onto his other shoulder once more.

“I work with him,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Is something bothering you, love?”

“No,” she said. She didn’t want to lie, but she thought it would seem awfully babyish for her to tell him that yes, he had made her quite nervous. So instead, she took his hand and swung it back and forth as they walked toward the gates.

As they neared the exit of the city and the entrance to the slums, several girls were standing together in a cluster, and she saw Eveline’s face light up.

“Mother, may I?” Eveline asked, pointing. “I promise to catch up later.”

Her mother sighed, then nodded, and Eveline ran away to join her friends, each of them dressed as prettily as she was.

They passed them by and made their way through the gates and into the outer market. It was a strange place to have to walk through on their way to something so pretty as the lake. The kids on this side of the wall were always dirty, and some didn’t even wear shoes at all. They looked at her with accusing eyes that filled her with shame, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps they wished for boots as fine as hers.

When they had come through the outer city and into the meadow that surrounded the lake, it seemed like everyone was rushing down to the water in one big whoosh. Morgana let go of her father’s hand and flew away from them, eager to get to the bottom of the hill where the fine sand would scratch between her toes.

“Mother!” she called back over her shoulder.

She turned and found that her mother was spreading a blanket on the grass, and her father was setting Aemon down upon it. The little boy rubbed his eyes sleepily, but when he saw where they were, he jumped to his feet and toddled down to the edge of the water with her.

Morgana felt excited and exhausted at the same time. It would be midnight soon, but not quite yet, and the air was warm and soft against her skin. She took Aemon’s hand and walked up to a vendor selling cupcakes. She looked back at her mother again.

“Mama!” she called.

Her mother looked up and nodded. Morgana pointed toward her, and the man agreed, putting one cupcake each into her and Aemon’s hands.

Aemon immediately stuffed the frosting into his mouth, and when he took the cupcake away, his face was covered with it as if he’d painted a clown upon his skin.

Morgana was a little more careful, but only a little. Together, they walked down to the water, and Morgana found a place to sit in the sand.

She carefully put her cupcake next to her so that she could peel off her boots on the opposite side of Aemon so that he wouldn’t inadvertently toss sand into the frosting. Indeed, it was only moments before he dropped his own in the sand and found it inedible, covered in crunchy grit.

He opened his mouth then and wailed as if he couldn’t handle this intolerable crime that gravity had permitted. Morgana sighed, then picked up her own. She stared wistfully at it for a moment and then handed it to her little brother.

She patted him on the top of the head. “Now sit to eat it, and don’t squirm around.”

He did as he was told as Morgana tried to salvage what was left of his ruined cake. She found that if she ate the underside, she could get to quite a bit of it without eating a mouthful of sand.

When she was done, she threw the remains of it into the water.

She could hear her mother clucking from up above, but she pretended to be deaf and took Aemon by the hand instead of heeding her. Together, they walked down to the edge and stared up at the sun on this final day of the year, its birthday.

“Morgana!” she heard from behind her. Not her mother, nor her sister, but her sister’s friend, Angela. “Morgana, come play hide and seek with us!” she called.

Morgana looked up the hill at her sister, who was standing funny and looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Morgana felt confused.

Her mother appeared and took Aemon by the hand, leading him away from her.

“Go and play with the other girls,” she said. “It’s okay.”

She looked up again, still unsure. But the girl was smiling so genuinely that she figured she had nothing to lose. She walked up the low hill and met the group of girls. All of them were smiling welcomingly. All of them except for Eveline.

Morgana frowned, but then the girl was standing between her and her sister, and she was just so much taller than Morgana was.

“Come on, Morgana,” she said soothingly. “Morgana is your name, right?”

Morgana nodded.

“Come play with us,” she urged. “You need to be ‘it’ first since you’re the last in the game. Do you know how to play?”

She knew, and her feelings of worry were starting to evaporate. She knew how to do something good like the big girls did, like this girl did.

“Where do we play?” she asked.

“You come right over here,” the big girl said, leading her down closer to the water.

The group followed them down, though Eveline moved more slowly than the others.

The big girl stopped and put her hands on Morgana’s shoulders.

“You stay right here. Do you know how to count to twenty?”

“Yes!” Morgana nodded proudly.

“Good. Now, count to twenty when I say go. Then, when you’re done counting, yell out, ‘Ready or not, here I come!’ Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

She felt so good inside, being out in the world like this, so close to these girls who had scoffed at her for as long as she could remember. She wanted to explode with happiness, but she knew if she did, her sparks would go flying, and she would be out of control.

She took one long, measured breath to calm herself. Then, when the big girl gave a nod, she covered up her eyes.

“One!”

Scampering.

“Two!”

Sand on bare feet.

“Three!”

On and on, she counted, all the while listening carefully to the sounds that surrounded her.

Where were they? She hoped she could find the big girl first. That would be the most impressive.

“Sixteen!”

Giggles.

“Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen!” She called quickly, her anticipation unable to be controlled.

“Twenty!”

She had just started opening her eyes to say the words, “Ready or not ….”

But she couldn’t finish them, of course, because the big girl, Eveline’s friend, dumped a bucket of bait worms onto her head at that very moment.

She coughed and sputtered, suddenly cold and smelly and covered in slime. She looked up, confused.

This wasn’t right.

All of the girls laughed, and all Morgana could do was stand there in her ruined, hand-me-down dress.

“Eveline!” her father shouted, standing up from where he sat and advancing on her sister. When he got to her, she was on the receiving end of a good, hard slap.

He was yelling, shaking her by the shoulders.

But the other girls were still laughing. Morgana looked away from her father, from her guilty sister, and from the people watching her, some of them pointing and laughing, too.

It was this one, the big girl, whom she honed in on. Without thinking, without ever having done it before, she raised her hands before her and sent a jolt of power straight from her palms into the big girl’s chest. The girl went flying backward, landing hard in the grass. She screamed in pain or indignation; Morgana couldn’t tell.

Then, she turned away from the big girl and focused on the rest of them. All of them in their frilly dresses and fake smiles.

BOOM … BOOM … BOOM …

They each went down one after another like dominoes until, finally, she felt herself being picked up and dragged away from the scene, which was now a mess of screaming girls and pointed fingers and mumbled accusations.

And as midnight struck, and the sun came oh-so-close to the horizon, nobody watched it except for Morgana, held tightly, safe as she could be, in her grandfather’s arms.

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