Outside the village of Charroux, France 1977

She was six when the bad man came to their house. Hidden in the field of poesies. Red and pink. She was playing high and seek with her brother, deep in the tall strands of grass and flowers. She ducked low and held her breath, giddy at their game. She had to be very quiet, Maman had told her. Quieter than the wind. The little girl was very good at this game. She ducked lower still, crouching amid the scented blooms. She wasn't tall like her brother, who had to lie flat to avoid being seen.

She peered through the thicket, looking for Maman, but she had not yet come to look for them. She never took this long before emerging, her sing-song voice calling out their names as she sought them out. The girl's gaze was alert as she waited, watching the front door, breathless with excitement. She saw the flash of light then, blinding as it bounced against the windows from inside the house. It was different to anything she had seen before. Magic.

Curious, she crawled through the stems, sneaking toward the house. Maman said they weren't allowed to do magic. It was their special secret, and no one was to know. Not anyone from the village. Not even the girl's friends.

Creeping along the fringe of the grass and up by the hedges, she drew closer to the small house before the hill. The girl cast her gaze back to look for her brother, but his gleaming head could not be seen amid the sun and the sea of poesies.

She remembered the stillness most of all, like a tingle that started in her tummy and spread to her toes. Even at six, with eyes wide and full of wonder, somehow she had known. When she finally peered through the thick pane of glass and into the cottage house, she saw his face. Not unlike her own, except that he was older. Older even than Maman.

There was another man there with him, his own pale eyes wide and scared. She was scared too. The bad man held a wand between his fingers, but his eyes did not stray from the curled up figures on the floor before him. Her Maman and Papa were sleeping.

He turned to the younger man and whispered strange words she could not understand. They moved their watchful eyes toward the window, but she ducked quickly out of sight. Then she felt arms wrap around her body and tug her further down. Her brother, wide eyed, held her gaze and pressed a finger to his lips, before ushering her back into the grass.

Further and further they went this time, until the red and green grew thick around her with the smell of spring. They finally stopped and lay down on their backs, her brother's hand firmly gripping hers.

She didn't want to play any more; she wanted to wake Maman and slip into the warmth of her arms. But she did as she was told, and gazed up at the shifting clouds moving across the sun. The light was blinding to her eyes, but after a while she didn't feel the sharpness any more. She felt numb as the sky darkened to dusky purple, and for a long time after that.