There she stood. Aged five, or maybe six. Everything about her - one foot crossed over the other, toes pointed to the earth, hands resting on hips, head raised - bespoke outraged indignation at guardian/parent/adult-who-would-infringe-upon-her-freedom.
I did not see her face. It wasn't necessary. I haven't seen that expressive a back in a very long time.
She was Jeanne d'Arc. She was Екатерина II Великая, Empress of All the Russias. She was The Firestarter.
I have no idea what transpired to cause such affront - but I hope she never loses her passion.
