Mariella Hunt

Elle trudges the battered sidewalks surrounding the market. She carries with firm hands a basket of colored threads for sewing. “Thread,” she calls out, “clean thread for dresses, drapes, mending…” Where people are forced to make their own clothing, deprived of the convenience of shopping, there is demand for things…

“There is no such thing as magic.” Young Elle’s words cause her grandmother, Ama, to flinch. “It pains me,” she answers, “to hear you say such things.” Elle is defiant. “How can there be magic?” she demands. “If such a thing existed, we would not be trapped here with housefires…