The Lantern and the Moth

Lena had always been afraid of the dark. Shadows twisted into monsters, and every creak of the wooden floor sounded like a whisper from something unseen. But her mother, Mira, had a way of making the night less frightening.

"When I was your age," Mira would say, tucking Lena into bed, "I carried a lantern in my heart. It helped me walk through the darkest places."

Lena would close her eyes and imagine that lantern, glowing warm inside her chest, pushing away the night.

But one evening, the darkness became real.

It started with a storm—wind howling through the trees like a wild beast, rain hammering the roof in an angry rhythm. Lena sat curled up beside her mother near the fireplace, watching the flames flicker. Their small cottage, nestled at the edge of the forest, shook with each gust of wind.

Then, without warning, the fire sputtered out.

The room plunged into darkness.

Lena’s breath caught in her throat. She reached for her mother’s hand, finding it steady and warm. "Mama?"

"I'm here, little light," Mira whispered. "The storm must have put the fire out. But don’t worry, we’ll relight it."

Lena nodded, though fear still gripped her. Mira stood and moved to the shelf where she kept a box of matches. But as she struck one, a sharp gust of wind from the broken window extinguished it.

"Stay close," Mira said, leading Lena toward the cupboard. "We have another lantern in here."

Lena followed, her bare feet whispering against the wooden floor.

Then, from outside, came a sound that made her heart stop—a long, eerie creak, as if something heavy had moved in the wind.

Mira stiffened.

"The old oak," she murmured.

The great oak tree beside their cottage had stood for generations. But in storms like these, even the oldest trees could fall.

A loud crack shattered the air.

"Run!" Mira shouted, grabbing Lena and pulling her toward the back door.

They barely made it outside before the giant tree came crashing down, splitting the roof with a deafening roar.

Lena gasped, her tiny fingers clutching her mother’s dress as they stood in the rain, watching their home collapse beneath the weight of the tree.

For a moment, there was only silence, except for the dripping of rain and Lena’s pounding heart.

She turned to her mother, expecting fear. But Mira’s face was calm, her eyes steady.

"The storm is strong," she said, cupping Lena’s face, "but we are stronger."

Lena swallowed, blinking away tears. "What do we do now?"

"We find shelter," Mira said. "Come, little light."

They walked through the storm, hand in hand, past the broken fence and toward the forest’s edge. There, tucked beneath a rocky overhang, was a small hunter’s shed Mira had discovered years ago.

Inside, it was dry, though the wind still howled outside. Mira wrapped Lena in her shawl, rubbing her arms to keep her warm.

Then Lena noticed something. A small flicker of movement near the ceiling.

A moth.

It fluttered against the wooden beams, its delicate wings catching what little light remained.

Lena watched it, mesmerized.

Her mother followed her gaze and smiled. "Do you know why moths fly toward the light?"

Lena shook her head.

"Because they believe in it," Mira said. "Even in the darkest places, they keep searching for the glow."

Lena looked up at her mother, something settling inside her heart.

She was a moth, wasn’t she? She had been afraid, but she had followed her mother’s light.

That night, they huddled together in the shed, listening to the storm rage outside. And for the first time, Lena was not afraid of the dark.

She carried the lantern inside her, just like her mother did.

And no storm could ever put it out.