We are all locked in the basement. The wind outside is howling, screaming, almost laughing at our blind fear. Storms like these happen on occasion, but not like this. This one was different. It seemed manmade and fake, almost too outrageous to be naturally occurring. We were all crowded in the corner of the room, huddling together for warmth and security, even though there was plenty of space to spread out. I leaned over and whispered to my older cousin, “We live in a matriarchy, a society filled with powerful women and strong leaders. Everyone always feels safe. Yet I have never seen everyone look so frightened and hopeless. The matriarch is the only one who looks peaceful.” My cousin shuddered and turned away without responding, but I thought I noticed a small tear roll down his cheek. I hugged my knees and rocked back and forth on the cold, lonely basement floor.

Perhaps noticing the concern in my eyes, the matriarch leaned toward me, running her hand through my hair, and whispered, “Don’t worry dear. Everything is going to be alright. I have been alive for a long time, and storms like these always pass.” “But what if it doesn’t?,” a small child croaked. The matriarch turned toward the child and smiled, her eyes filled with hope, kindness, and forgiveness, and whispered a word that meant nothing and everything, but gave me exactly what I needed to hear. “Always.”