She was lying in bed. She had a proper one now, and not a stack of fabric. The hag was back, and people from the Mall had given them a bed, with clothes, plenty of food points and more food boxes. Still, after the trip, the hag was not the same as usual. She moved slowly, as if she was in a dream, as if her mind was full of mist.

Marsha had felt in a funny mood since the meeting. If she knew the word, she would say she was disappointed. The reading had been painful for the leader, who had read slowly, word after word, and for them listeners, who had understood almost nothing.

After the reading, the leader had wanted to use another book that listed words (every existing word) along with their meaning (it was from the same book that the leader had picked some words randomly, to create the "magic words" they had said before joining the meeting, "scribbler moon".) Searching for the meaning of odd words, trying to understand what the woman of the story was talking about, had been very hard work. After two days, Marsha's head was still aching.

Then, what use had it been understanding the story? It was about a hag, an ancient one, of course, who had nothing better to do than counting the years starting from her birth, and they were many years. That hag took a young boy to the Mall, and then went to a meeting with strangers in her own house. The strangers were holding black mirrors that served the purpose to show everyone what was going on, even at a distance, even behind walls. Black mirrors were nothing else but eyes that people threw to other people and without asking for permission. That hag feared for her own life, yet she had food that didn't want to eat. That hag was ready to kill, and for reasons they hadn't quite been able to work out.

"If we knew how to build black mirrors ourselves, perhaps we could make it to the clouds and gather all the information we need" the leader had concluded.

The listeners had nodded, shyly, without knowing where to look.

Not only disappointed, Marsha was horrified. She was starting to see that the past was past. As simple as that. Perhaps she was born late, and perhaps she had to be grateful for that. The hag did not come to scold her and go to work that day. (She would not attend those meetings any more. The leader was taken away a few days later. He had been blabbering too much about leading a bunch of kids to conquer the new world and destruct the Mall.)

Marmite giggled outside. Marsha left the bed, raised the curtain and run to hug her.