The woodsman takes stiff steps; his head is heavy, as if it’s filled with cold water. A light breaks the darkness, so bright that he can no longer see the path. Could it be the reflection off the blade of my axe? How is that possible? he asks himself silently. He’s so cold inside that he can no longer think clearly. He recalls old tales of men who lost their minds because of their weapons. Instinctively he moves the axe in his hand, but the light doesn’t change. He lifts his face to the sky, eyeing the splendorous light, but can’t see a thing; the moon has been outshone, no longer visible. Then he thinks, The stars have all died.

Light that obliterates all other light is dangerous, but this thought doesn’t occur to the woodsman. Neither does he think of the sky as black velvet; he was born poor.

He waits a little while for his eyes to adjust. At risk of getting lost, he stumbles in the direction of the shining light. It’s coming from a woman dressed in iridescent blue satin, sparks flying from her fingernails and teeth, her hair filaments of light. She opens her mouth to speak and he sees the source of the light inside her mouth.

“I know your daughter is hungry. Why let an innocent girl suffer when I can help you? Bring her to me, and I will look after her and protect her.”

Sparks fly with each of her words, accompanied by a clap of thunder.

The woodsman backs away without saying a word, without taking his eyes off the woman. She opens her mouth wider, like she’s yawning, and even more light pours forth. She’s lit up from inside. When he reaches the path, the Illuminata fades into darkness silently. It takes some time for the woodsman to get his bearings. In the sky he sees the far-off splendor of the rising sun, which means his home must be somewhere to the right. So he goes left, brandishing his axe, declaring, “I’m going to find something to eat. I’m hungry!”

A pair of eyes blink at him, knee-high. The woodsman lifts his axe. The eyes regard him; they belong to an animal—though he can’t see what kind—who says calmly (and without an accent), “You’ll get only one meal out of me. Feed me to your wife and daughter. I’ll be the last thing you eat this winter. You’ll die of hunger. Don’t be a fool, give your daughter to the Illuminata.”