Mira Carries the Flame — Behind the blue curtain, Mira tucked her bent paper flag close and listened to the party room hum: ribbon rustle, box thumps, the soft fizz of sugar fireworks. Read the full story →
Behind the blue curtain, Mira tucked her bent paper flag close and listened to the party room hum: ribbon rustle, box thumps, the soft fizz of sugar fireworks. She wanted one small flame for the tall candle before everyone sang, because the flag had belonged to her first bakery tray and it always pointed toward brave places. The match tin sat across the shiny floor in the wish alcove, beside three paper hats that whispered in the air vent.
Mira rolled out from the cozy cart. Wax smell led her on. Halfway there, a falling bow loop caught her wrapper and tore one striped fold with a papery rip. She nearly turned back, but the flag tapped her candle like a tiny hand. “Just a little farther,” she whispered.
In the alcove, she found no matches—only a lantern with one sleepy spark. Mira leaned close, shared its warmth, and carried back a golden flame. Her torn fold fluttered, lighter than before. When the fireworks popped hush-pop above the gifts, the bent flag pointed home; can you find the brave little flame it led her to?
