“I think this one might be OK,” the girl suggested diffidently, searching Faye’s eyes for a confirmation.
The old woman smiled. She rose and walked over. Spinning the teenager around so she faced the triple mirror next to the fitting room, Faye answered her question with a question. “What do you think?”
Hannah gasped at the multiple images of herself reflecting the finery of a princess. The outfit was a pink skater dress. Its fitted bodice was spangled with rhinestones. The short skirt was made of ruffled chiffon and billowed around Hannah’s legs as she spun around to get a better look. When she stopped spinning, she studied herself with a critical eye. “I think I look pretty.” She uttered the statement with a note of shock in her voice.
“And that surprises you?” Faye asked gently.
The girl frowned. “It was a sin among the Nephilim to pay too much attention to appearance. We were told that vanity was the devil’s favorite method to ensnare the female. Everybody knew that women who admired themselves were bound to go to hell.”
The old woman chuckled mirthlessly. “A very effective strategy if one wishes to induce self-doubt in the fair sex.”
Hannah whirled around to stare at her. “Why would somebody want to do that?”
“My dear, in the age-old battle between the sexes, women’s trump card has always been physical attractiveness. In cultures where men make the rules, the irksome fact remains that the wealthiest and strongest man can easily be mastered by a pretty woman. I suspect the Nephilim brotherhood knows and deeply resents its vulnerability to female charms.”
Hannah continued to stare at her uncomprehendingly.
Faye elaborated. “For women, beauty is power.”
“So, a woman who knows she’s beautiful...” Hannah trailed off.
“If she were unscrupulous enough, she could use it to her advantage and wreak havoc among the brotherhood. Possibly even destroy it.”
“Do you suppose that’s why we all wore grey dresses? And why our hair was bound around our heads?” Hannah asked the questions as if realizing the implication for the first time.
“Most assuredly,” Faye agreed, returning to the cushioned seat before the mirrors.
The girl followed her and sat down, an anxious look still on her face. “So, you think this dress looks alright? That I look alright in it?”
Faye reached over and patted her hand. “Hannah, I’ve lived a very long time, and over the course of my life, I’ve learned a few things that have helped carry me through. The most useful lesson of all is never to place one’s self-esteem in the hands of other people.”
The girl still looked puzzled.
“How do YOU think you look?” Faye asked.
Glancing briefly at her reflection in the mirror, the girl replied hesitantly. “I think I actually look...” She faltered. “Beautiful.”
Faye squeezed her arm encouragingly. “That’s my girl. In the long run, your opinion of yourself is the only one that counts.”
“There I said it,” the teenager continued, gaining confidence. “I look beautiful. I am beautiful.”
“I imagine that felt rather liberating,” Faye observed.
Hannah’s face appeared flushed, exhilarated. “A little scary actually,” she admitted. “I never allowed myself to believe that before, much less say it out loud.”
“No doubt, that’s only one of many new concepts you’ve learned since you left the compound.”
The girl gazed down at the floor pensively. “Living among the Nephilim seems like a bad dream to me now. The things they believe. The way they treat each other. Now that I can look at it from the outside, their ways are topsy-turvy. They stood the world on its head and tried to make everybody believe things were right-side-up.”
“So, you’re happy in this Fallen World, as the brotherhood calls it?”
“Happy?” Hannah repeated the word with incredulity in her voice. “There’s no comparison. I never want to go back there. I’d die before I’d do that.”
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Faye said dryly.
The girl scarcely heard her. She remained lost in her own past. “Even when I was at the compound in Missouri and my parents were there and my brothers and sisters, I don’t think any of us were really happy. My parents always worried about whether they were doing the right things to please God. And then, when I was taken away from my family and brought to Illinois, everybody around me wasn’t simply worried. They were all scared.” She paused to consider. “Except Father Abraham. He never seemed to be afraid. I guess because he was too busy scaring everybody else.”
“Oh, I think he was terrified too,” Faye remarked quietly.
“You do?” Hannah turned to peer at the old woman.
Faye nodded. “Men who bluster and posture are trying to keep their own fears at bay and to keep everyone else from suspecting the truth. That they’re the most frightened of all.”
“But what could he have to be afraid of?” Hannah protested. “He made all the rules. He was in charge of everything.”
The memory guardian paused to consider the question. “If he really believed the tenets of the Nephilim then he was accountable for everyone else. And if everything wasn’t going well, who do you think God would blame? Mr. Metcalf must have lived in constant dread of divine retribution.”
“Oh, my.” Hannah’s hand flew to her mouth as recognition dawned.
Faye continued. “I can’t imagine a worse burden than holding oneself accountable for hundreds, if not thousands, of other souls. I find being accountable for my own is quite enough to manage.”
“No wonder he was so crabby all the time,” Hannah said.
Faye chuckled and stood up. “Enough gloom and doom. Why don’t you change and we’ll take your lovely new dress up to the counter and pay for it.”
Hannah scurried to the fitting room door and returned five minutes later with the dress over her arm.
As the two walked toward the cashier, Faye said, “Now we’ll have to find you some shoes to match.”
“Glass slippers?” Hannah suggested with a grin on
