During her early years, whenever Anna encounter ed tough times, she found solace in the corner by the window, suffused with the soft green glow of twilight. The most heartbreak ing moments came when her father staggered home, inebriated and furious, unleashing torrents of rage that transformed her mother’s already worn and anxious face into a mask of despair— a face that must have once exuded beauty, much like that of his little daughter watching quietly from her corner. In the heat of the argument, after exchanging a few sharp retorts that matched her husband’s harsh words, the mother would grab her coat if it was chilly, and on warmer days, she would storm out, just as irate, leaving him alone to seethe. Meanwhile, little Anna, tucked away in her corner beneath the windowsill, remained perfectly still, as if unseen, eagerly waiting for a magical being to come and take her away, delivering her from that torment. Yes, she longed for a fairy.
No one had ever talked to her about God; her only connection to magic came from an old woman who lived next door along the same hallway. Whenever the little girl helped her with housework, the old woman would weave enchanting fairy tales. Anna would stand there, captivated, broom in hand, hanging on her every word as if the stories themselves con jured a magnificent fairy—a breathtaking being dressed in shimmering silks and adorned with radiant jewels. This ignited a deep yearning within the little girl, stirring her heart with dreams of elegance and beauty. As a result, her desire to see the fairy grew stronger with every tale.
In a moment filled with tension and desperation, Anna heard a knock at the door. She sprang from her green corner of despair, pushing past her agitated father and her weary mother, fuelled by a hope that a fairy—like the ones in the old woman’s fairy tales who always arrived just in time to help the vulnerable—might finally be on her doorstep. But when she opened the door, a stranger stood there: a petite lady, seemingly youthful yet pale, thin, and unremarkable. Disappointment washed over Anna as she realized that this unassuming figure possessed only the soft, muted glow of her gentle, clear eyes. The woman spoke softly of charity and Saint Vincent, taking a step forward, but Anna’s father, his voice cracking from the weight of his own troubled life steeped in jealousy and alcohol, barked, “Go on, get out of here!” He slammed the door decisively, unleashing a torrent of curses that sent Anna scurrying to her spot beneath the window, where she hid her shocked and sorrowful spirit in the shadows.
* * *
But Anna’s refuge was not destined to last. As she matured, she learned to slam the door behind her, mirroring her mother’s actions. Working in a factory, she took pride in her appearance, carefully selecting her outfits. The tumult of adolescence and early adulthood amplified her child hood aspirations; despite her mea gre earnings, she clung to the flee ting hope that magical transfor mations, akin to those in Cinder ella, were possible.
She needed money and had to secure it—this was a pressing reality. Anna wasn’t vain or obstinate; her desire for a better life arose from a natural longing for something greater and more beautiful, something no one had ever shown her how to pursue beyond surfacelevel appearan ces. Unfortunately, she came to accept that fairies weren’t real and would not come to her rescue in her challenging circumstances.
Instead, someone who watched her closely, approached her, entranced by her graceful and unguarded beauty. This person sought to exchange that untouched, defenceless youth for a girl in a garish dress, shimmering with the grotesque sheen of imitation silk. She then she realised this dress not only obscured her vision but also ignited Anna’s naive ambition, prompting her to sacrifice the pure wings of her soul for that deceitful glitter.
When she finally understood that the illfated dress had irreparably tarnished her most cherished gown—one that no magic could ever restore to its former glory—she attempted to suppress her sorrow by enveloping herself in other garments, all of which were undeniably beautiful and precious. Yet, despite this, she found herself buried beneath that insubstantial yet suffocating weight of silks, tulle, furs, and feathers, her pious soul feeling shrivelled and desolate. Deep inside, it echoed her childhood, when she would nestle in the corner beneath the window, shrouded in the greenish, abstract shadow of twilight, longing for a merciful fairy to come to her rescue and liberate her from that haunting nightmare.
* * *
Even now, after that muddy tumble, she found herself in a corner by a window, where a white, ethereal light streamed in. Yet, this light felt just as lonely and sorrowful as the shadows of evenings long past. It was a hospital window, placed in a dismal corner, and in the heavy silence—tinged with weariness and almost pain—it wasn’t her father’s curses that haunted her, but a profound sense of shame, abjection, and abandonment that weighed her down. Her fragile, childish soul quaked in dismay, just as it once had; however, something else also arose from her depths in that dire abandonment—a glimmer of hope that someone would remember her.
Though her soul had been distant from God from the start, it might have sensed His presence, much like someone with closed eyes feels the warmth of the sun. This is why, deep within her, Anna longed for comfort and liberation with the purity of her lost childhood. Yet, this longing was more intense, deeper, and more aware; it was no longer a simple fantasy she craved, but a conscious pursuit of understanding. This awareness brought with it a gaze that never lies—a gaze that recognizes truth imme diately and offers the possibility of healing.
From the moment Anna caught sight of her, a wave of recognition enveloped her: she was the fairy! Humble in her demea nour, with an unpretentious presence and a voice that car ried the echoes of a distant realm, the fairy stepped softly to Anna’s bed side. She took Anna’s hand and spoke of One who performs wonders — He who creates miracles. With a mere word, He transforms a tattered garment into a royal robe, fit for a kingdom that exists beyond our earthly confines, soaring high above the brilliance of stars.
As Anna listened, tears cascaded down her cheeks; it felt as if the fairy had come to comfort the frightened little girl hiding in the shadows, gently guiding her towards light and joy. In that moment, she felt a childlike innocence return, embraced by the reassuring presence of the fairy, cloaked in the guise of a nun.
A deep longing stirred within her, a need to share her innermost feelings: to reveal how long she had yearned for this moment, to finally acknowledge this pro found recognition. “But you,” Anna said, her voice quivering with emotion, “you are…” Rather than saying “a fairy,” she chose the words that resonated deeply within her: “You are an angel.”