Her father was a politician, but I never blamed her. He kept her hidden, locked in asylum after asylum. I bet her daddy would crap a brick if he could see his little darling now.
Darkness reigns across the nation, but here in our warehouse city, Celia presides in glowing light.
“How do you do it?” I whisper in her ear.
She glances at the frayed and disconnected wires, a wry smile on her lips. “Daddy and his kind never figured it out. You can’ t lock up light. It always finds a way to shine.”