“When A Flame is Lit, Move Toward It”, the moment I met Lark, everything about the way I saw the world began to shift. She introduced two essential ideas that became central to my life: the importance of reading and the need to embrace new experiences, no matter how daunting they might seem. My childhood had not prepared me for these concepts—growing up in a household where literature wasn’t valued, I had always felt disconnected from the world of books. Though I was capable of reading, my family’s indifference meant that I had never been encouraged to truly immerse myself in stories. I was often seen as an outsider, more at home in physical tasks and with an unpolished approach to life, playing the role of a friendly but somewhat awkward person, much like a character in a school play who didn’t fit in with the rest of the cast.

At twenty-eight, I was making a living as a house painter while also dabbling in music on the side, finding solace in the arts as a creative outlet. One bitterly cold winter day, I sought refuge from the harsh weather by ducking into the library, a quiet space where I could enjoy my lunch in peace. It was there that I first heard Lark’s voice, soft and melodic, as she interacted with patrons at the help desk. There was something magnetic about the way she calmed the anxieties of those around her, making them feel understood and at ease. I tried to glimpse her, but she remained hidden behind the desk, leaving me curious and eager to know more about her.

Driven by this newfound fascination, I began visiting the library every day, listening to the way Lark guided patrons to the books they needed. It wasn’t just her knowledge of literature that impressed me—it was the way she seemed to sense people’s unspoken questions, offering guidance before they even asked. Her insights into books, especially the ones I had never heard of, opened a whole new world to me. I started taking notes, scribbling down authors and terms she mentioned, like “Dickens” and “luminous,” and I could feel a growing desire to dive deeper into these unknown worlds. I began to realize that books were more than just words on a page—they were an entry into understanding life, and Lark’s ability to open those doors for others was something I admired greatly.

Motivated by Lark’s influence, I decided to take my visits to the library a step further. I picked up books I had always heard about but never really considered, like works by Dickens and Connor. Soon, I found myself deeply engrossed in these novels, spending hours reading instead of working. The stories of Beowulf and The Odyssey spoke to me in ways I hadn’t expected, and I began to see parallels between the struggles of the characters and the challenges I had faced in my own life. These stories became a refuge, an escape from the mundane reality I had once known, and they filled a void that had been there for as long as I could remember.

Along the way, I discovered the work of Molly Thorn, an author who had been the subject of much quiet talk in the city. Lark had spoken fondly of her books, and I was intrigued to read one for myself. But the climate around me had shifted—the world seemed to be turning away from intellectual pursuits, and there was a growing sense of anti-intellectualism that left me uncertain about my growing passion for literature. Still, my desire to read Molly Thorn’s work became a personal challenge, a mission to prove that even in a world that was increasingly indifferent to literature, there were still those of us who cherished the power of a good story. The pursuit of this book symbolized my hope, my refusal to let the world’s apathy extinguish the flame of knowledge and creativity I had discovered through Lark’s guidance.