The glass of water on Emma's dresser shakes and ripples as she leans over her bed. Her hands are clasped in a desperate prayer, her mouth moving in rushed whispers. From down the hall, she could hear her older sisters screams.

“Please, please, please,” she begged.

On a textbook that lay on her bed sat a candle. An ordinary candle, by all accounts; long, white, a tall flame flickering against the air in the same fashion as a snakes tongue. It cast a large shadow along the wall that seemed to grow larger with each word that left Emma's lips.

She retrieved a piece of pink construction paper from her dress pocket. On it, written in hastily sprawled green crayon were the words Emma had found. The words that came to Emma’s dreams the day she found the candle. They were burned into her brain, etched there in razor sharp clarity, but still she wrote them down. She couldn’t risk forgetting them. Emma smoothed the paper out, laying it flat on the bed. Then, she picked up Miss Molly, her most favorite and prized possession. She held the doll out, studying her.

Miss Molly was a plush doll. Her hair was made of pink yarn and set in pigtails, a black bow above each. The dress she wore was a collage of pink, black, brown, and white patches; sown together in a pattern from leftover scraps of cloth. Soft Mary-Janes' on her rounded feet covered the tiny socks that spilled over the edges in fluffy lace. Her eyes were black buttons.

Emma hugged the doll against her, giving it a tender kiss on her forehead, before sitting her down next to the candle. She takes the last item from her pocket. It glinted in the dull light of the room, reflecting the firelight. Squeezing her eyes shut, she drew the blade against the flesh of her palm. She winced a little, but didn’t cry, even though it hurt.

Holding her bleeding hand above the flame, the fire fizzled, but didn’t go out. In fact, the flame seemed to grow stronger, burn brighter than it had. Emma drew in a deep breath, the words she needed to speak bubbling up from her throat, flowing from the tip of her tongue like water.

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Tonight I ask of thee

Help me right the wrong done unto me

Slay the monster to make him tame

Bare his soul to the light of your flame

Take a piece of mine to make me whole

I ask of you to make him pay his toll

The shadow on the wall shifted. It grew larger and larger, swallowing the room, snuffing out all light, before collapsing in on itself, drawing back, coalescing into the form of a woman.

The woman wore a thin, golden cloak. She was tall, her skin the color of the night and her hair dark and wild in the same way that a lions mane was wild. It curled down and around her form. From her head sprouted the antlers of a deer, and her eyes held a sharp coldness, filled in with the flecks of golden light.

She looked down at Emma, who appeared frightened, but with an aura of hope shining from her baby blue eyes. The woman’s gaze was warm as she closed the distance to the child.

Emma didn’t shirk away. She kept her eyes on the woman as she knelt in front of her. Gazing into her star filled eyes felt to Emma like looking into an endless mirror. They were a labyrinth; without bounds, without end. A galaxy in the form of an iris.

The Star Lady brushed the hair from Emma’s face. And in the same tender fashion she had shown Miss Molly only moments earlier, she brought her lips to Emma's forehead.

Then she watched the woman stand. Reaching over, the woman gently lifts Miss Molly and holds her to her chest as Emma had always done. She watched her walk from the room, each foot step rippling under her like water. Emma followed the Star Lady as she descended the stairs from the hallway, taking a seat high up on the stairs, unwilling to go farther.

With wide eyes that shone with fear and with hope, Emma stared after the Star Lady as she strode to the recliner, beer cans littering the floor around it. She walked through the recliner, stopping in the middle as if it wasn’t there. The man took no notice of her.

Then, she took his face in her hands and looked him in the eye. He jerked; a spasmodic movement. And when he jerked, the Star Lady was gone. Then he jerked again, and again, and again.

Then the screaming began.

Emma looked down at the screaming, flailing man. She watched as he fell from his recliner. She watched as he clutched his head, his stomach, his groin, his chest. She watched without moving as he gasped and cried and begged.

And Emma smiled.