Hidden Alchemist

Women are hidden alchemists. Every day they work with intangible elements, turning the darkest grey skies into luminous auric matter, real but invisible to the eye.

She is a prism in human form, taking whatever the world casts through her and bending it into colour. A rainbow whose colours dance into a shimmering spectrum of solace, protection and sovereign magic.

Somehow, this same woman trusted to carry life, raise generations, hold families together, create culture, preserve memory, teach, heal, build and make something from almost nothing, has repeatedly been told there are certain rooms she is simply not equipped to lead.

She pours light into everybody and everything around her whilst being expected to dim the source it came from.

Maybe she was never lacking power. Maybe too much of history has been spent deciding where she is permitted to use it.

All the while, her cloak of confidence is wrapped around the people she loves, and her quiet magic keeps the world spinning on its axis.

History has spent centuries trying to put boundaries around her brilliance. But how do you tell the moon which parts of the sky she is allowed to paint?