Camilla was in fact very angry. And the thing about angry people is that they aren’t the best at paying attention to their surroundings. Camilla tossed the box of her possessions towards her bed, with no intention of actually looking through them (but every intention of fighting for them should her mother bring the subject up again). She flung her hoodie off and began searching for her pajamas, mumbling bitter words under her breath the whole time.
Had Camilla been paying attention she might have looked out her window and noticed the storm clouds brewing outside. The blanket of nimbus that was stretching over her town cracked with thunder like most storm clouds do, but it didn’t flash white like lightning or indigo like the nighttime sky. All the thunderclouds were turning a strange pale yellow. It was as if someone had waved a brush of ochre over the sky.
If she had been more vigilant, she might have looked outside and seen the wind picking up and the small shower that was turning into a sideways downpour. There were a lot of things Camilla could have noticed if she looked twice, but there was something happening that even the keenest eye wouldn’t have noticed.
Amidst the sporadic weather, there was one certain wind that was moving with much more purpose. Making its way past cars, and streetlights, and buildings, one wind was aiming itself directly at Camilla’s home. With its faint golden hue, it seemed to be possessed by the same yellow entity that had decorated the sky. It meant only to knock on Camilla’s window gently, to get her attention in a friendly manner. But forces like this don’t always know their own strength.
Camilla’s window burst open. All kinds of wind came rushing into her room, both purposeful and otherwise. Papers on her desk and drawings on her wall launched into the air as her room quickly turned into a wind tunnel. Camilla jumped up onto the swivel chair and then onto her desk, gripping the flung back windows. She fought against the force of the air as it beat across her face and drummed in her ears. She pulled up the last bit of strength needed and forced the window closed. Camilla huffed and puffed, trying to catch her breath from the ordeal.
As she began to climb down from her desk, she heard it. What had seemed like ringing in her ear from the wind was now clearly coming through as a voice. Someone or something was whispering to her. She turned around quickly. There was nothing there to stare back at her except the light coming in from the hallway. Camilla was alone in her room. Alone with the box of her possessions. She looked down to see that the gale-force wind had knocked the lid off of her cardboard box. She reached down to put it back in place.
Camilla’s evening had started off so frustratingly no one could really blame her for all that she wasn’t paying attention to. She hadn’t noticed the yellow storm clouds, she hadn’t noticed the wind barreling towards her window, and she certainly hadn’t noticed the change in her cardboard box. Deep at the bottom of the container, past the faded teddy bears and the neglected sketchbook, sat a shimmering piece of paper that wasn’t there before. Someone had left Camilla a note.
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