There are parts of us that learn to grow quiet.
Not because they are gone,
but because they were told
they were too much.
So we dim.
We adjust.
We become smaller
to belong.
And still,
something remains.
A small knowing
that does not leave.
It may sleep.
It may flicker.
But it does not disappear.
And when it is met
with even the slightest kindness,
it rises —
not as something new,
but as something remembered —
and finally
allowed to burn.
— a reflection of Corvalya
Return to The Ember Knew.
Notice what shifts.