The rough-cut crystal gleams and shines with a life of its own, sending blue-white sparks of light over the hands that hold it, and the intent solemn face of the blonde girl looking down into it. The rest of the chamber is deep in shadow, but an observer, if there were one, would hear the drip of falling water, and perhaps the distant groan of overburdened stone.
The girl’s single heavy braid hangs past the stone, and the light glimmers as she turns it, staring, staring rapt, slowly releasing the stone with one hand and raising the other, clenching and unclenching, flexing as though she tests her strength.
Her rapt face changes then, lit by a sweet smile as if at some fond memory – a voice calls her name, echoing down a long hallway, and she tucks the crystal safe away and stands – “Here my love, coming!”
