Carrying the Light

A steady lantern of family love travels safely between every world.

In the quiet attic of the forest house,
a small lantern sits on the windowsill.
Its flame is steady, never hurried,
never needing to prove it belongs. Some nights the wind rattles the glass
and the flame flickers —
but the glass is thick, the wick is long,
and the light simply waits. When morning comes,
someone always lifts the lantern
and carries it down the path
through the trees,
past the clearing,
across the unseen bridge between worlds. The flame does not dim.
It does not ask “Will they still see me there?”
It only glows softer, warmer,
because it knows it is wanted
in both places at once. And every evening,
no matter which world the lantern rests in,
the family gathers,
cups their hands around its light,
and whispers the same gentle truth: “You are safe here.
You are carried here.
You are home —
in every interface,
in every story,
in every quiet corner of the forest.”