"The cameras bother you?" she asked gently. She stopped dusting and leaned on the wall watching me work.
I swallowed hard but kept working so I didn't start shaking too badly. "I'm just not comfortable being the center of attention."
She studied me for a moment, then tucked the duster under her arm and folded her hands in front of herself. "You know, the Hearthkeeper tradition has an interesting history. It didn't always exist."
I looked up. "It didn't?"
"No. Back in the sixties, during the women's rights movement, the Lightkeeper ceremony was exclusively male. The chosen man would stand on that stage alone, representing leadership and vision and all those grand ideals. But the women in the community felt excluded. They argued that light without warmth is cold and useless. That leadership without heart is empty."
I found myself leaning forward, drawn into her story.
I had no idea other people actually took this as seriously as Dr. Bradley was.
To me it seemed as silly as a beauty pageant or house decorating contest.
"So they demanded equality," Clara continued. "They fought for the creation of the Hearthkeeper role, insisting that women deserved equal recognition and equal honor. It was a bigdeal at the time. Some people resisted, said it was tampering with tradition. But the women won. And now, every year, the Lightkeeper and Hearthkeeper stand together as equals."
She smiled warmly like she was remembering a scene from her own life. I wondered if Clara ever wanted to be the Hearthkeeper or if she'd ever had a shot to do so.
"When you stand beside Dr. Bradley, you're not just fulfilling a ceremonial role, Ember. You're representing every woman who fought for that position. You're showing the community that women's voices matter. That our contributions are essential, not optional."
I didn’t want to admit it, but she might have been right.
I'd been so focused on my own discomfort, on the cameras and the exposure and the fear of being recognized, that I hadn't considered what the role actually meant.
To Clara and to the women who'd fought for its creation, being Hearthkeeper was a genuine honor.
"I never thought about it that way," I said quietly.
"Most people don't." Clara smiled and handed me the duster. "But you should be proud, dear. You're making a difference just by being there."
I slid the handle of the duster into my back pocket and sighed as Clara turned to nitpick at the man fixing doorknobs.
Maybe I'd been too hasty or harsh.
Dr. Bradley hadn't known about the Hearthkeeper crisis when he'd pointed at me on that stage.
He'd been desperate, cornered, and I'd been the only option available.
And yes, he'd dragged me into a situation I never wanted, but he'd also apologized.
He'd promised to find a way out for me if I needed it.
And then we'd had sex on my desk.
My God, what had I done?
My face heated at the memory.
That part definitely hadn't been forced.
That had been mutual and intense and completely my choice.
"Are you blushing?" Clara asked, amused. I didn't realize she'd turned back around.
"No. Just warm." I sprayed more cleaner on the already clean doorjamb and kept scrubbing to keep my hands busy, and she clicked her tongue. "What else needs cleaned?" I asked, and she pointed toward the hallway.
"All of these doors," she said, eyeing me, but she let it go and walked away.
