Gods, how I hate this place.

A youthful enough looking woman can’t stop herself from thinking about her past with her sister here, wishing to be anywhere other than simply the rocky terrain that her vehicle rolled along. She’d avoided coming back, for as long as possible for a reason. One that she wasn’t quite ready to have to explain to her nieces. Naively, she let herself entertain the idea that perhaps she could hold off on revealing the truth to the girls for a little while longer. Still, Eleanor knew, the second they saw the journal in her hands, they would demand answers.

Answers that even she didn’t have for them. Her fingers splayed across the embossed cover, tracing the delicate designs, thumb gliding over the semi-precious stone in the center, just small enough to be overlooked. With a heavy sigh, followed by a brief moment of hesitation, Eleanor slid a finger underneath the leather cover of the book, lifting it. She fought back an exasperated groan, fingers lacing through her hair as she found herself staring back at a completely empty piece of parchment. No matter how many times she thumbed through the old book, each page was dry, and unmarked. Damn you, Selene.

Even in death, her sister had to have the last victory. No notes, nothing for her to tell her nieces, no idea of what she was supposed to do, much less how the magical book had ended up in her very hands the morning of Selene’s death. She had simply woken to the book laying on her desk that very morning. Eleanor is on the brink of praying for some sort of accident, or at the very least, something to take her mind off of the flurry of fear circling around in her chest, a feeling she hasn’t felt this strongly in quite some time.

Another hour goes by, and she pulls one of the velvet curtains away from a window near her, thinking that she’s at least near the town, but she is still far enough away that she can’t fully make anything out. Softly, she lets the cover of the leather journal fall shut, watching as she can just barely make out some scribbles starting to appear visible to her after closing the book. She knows better than to rip the book back open to try to see what the scribbles say, for the moment that she opens it again, the dark ink will disappear instantly.

Meanwhile, somewhere deep in the forest that runs alongside the very same mountain pass, a young woman crouches close to the ground. Waiting, with bated breath, remaining as still as possible, ignoring the pounding of her heart in her ears.

***