She arrived late afternoon, bringing with her a clash of thunder as lightning streaked the graying sky. It seemed the heavens were just as against her visit as I was.
Still, she was here and there was no turning back. Her fate was to unravel for a purpose. She was born with the mark of the stone. It was inevitable she would face the ensuing battle.
For the past five months I had been observing this girl's confidence. Her sure-footed stubbornness proved she was named after the stone for more than just holding its power.
Only at times, I could see that even a girl of such vast strength could hold an inner weakness. In a crowded room she became quiet, anxious, refraining from social contact.
I was eager to learn why.
The Locke's gardener carried her luggage up the stone steps to the manor. There he paused and looked out at the driveway and the distant forest. Maybe he sensed me.
Maybe he feared, as much as I, what was about to happen. Got you intrigued?