Prophecy of the Sisters

I recall his somber eyes during that last, private conversation. His eyes and his words, far too wise for a boy of ten: only time will tell, Lia. In the end, I suppose it will.

I avoid looking at the clock, fearing the slow passing of time that will only seem slower if I watch its progress.

I love you anyway, Lia," he calls after me. "Until time tells, I mean." I turn to him and smile, loving him more in this moment than any other. "Until time tells, then, Henry, and beyond. I love you as well.

I shake my head. "Remember, Mother. There are no mistakes." She smiles through her tears, leaning in to kiss my cheek "No mistakes, my angel.

Its emptiness is more than the lack of living, breathing beings. It is the unread pages of the many books that reside on the shelves throughout the room I should hot have thought one could tell when books have gone unread, but after the company of Birchwood's well-loved library it is as if I can hear these books whispering, their pages grasping and reaching for an audience.

Pero no puedo dejar de pensar, no puedo detener el movimiento del engranaje de todo cuanto he aprendido. Dejo que mi mente se pasee por la oscuridad

To find the books end, cross the ancient wood to the mystic isle. Until then, prepare yourself for the coming battle. . . AND TRUST NO ONE.

The blackness that smothers me is total, and in the moment before everything falls away, I know what it feels like to be dead.

There is no ladylike way to tell him to push all he wants, that his mouth and body on mine are the only things keeping me from losing my hold on a reality I never questioned until these past days.

The day is like a diamond, all beautiful warmth on the outside but without any heat to accompany it.

Perhaps because it seems so appropriate, I don’t notice the rain.