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her youth reading or sitting at the feet of the old storytellers and ancient record keepers. She was blessed with a spectacular imagination coupled with a melodious, mesmerizing voice.
    When she was old enough, Alethia began traveling with a band of storytellers from town to town, learning and perfecting their trade. While traveling through the small village of Moorglen, Alethia met and fell madly in love with the town Steward’s son, Ociel. He was completely entranced by her beauty and her voice. From the moment their eyes first met, they were inseparable. Alethia remained in Moorglen with Ociel, and soon they were happily married. She bore him but one child, Jenevier.
    Since her adoring parents traveled with the storytellers so much, Marlise’s tiny house and garden always seemed more like home. Jenevier loved her truly. It proved difficult for her to concentrate on her studies. Her mind was constantly on the fact her beloved aunt was dying, and soon, by the look of things. She would take the ailing woman’s precious journals to bed with her, intending to study. But most nights, she just softly cried herself to sleep.
    Marlise would slip into the maiden’s room, light candles, sprinkle warding powders around her bed, and chant protective prayers over the sleeping girl. The older woman was a bit of a clairvoyant. And when she looked at Jenevier, she saw a blindingly beautiful light slowly being crushed by darkness. It worried her, preyed upon her ease.
    From the first moment Marlise held Jenevier in her arms as a babe, she had claimed the child to be the purest soul born to walk this land since the ancient times. Now, she could see that same dazzling glow lessening. This strange darkness was encompassing her angelic niece, encircling her rare aura. And it was this eager darkness, above all things, which tormented Marlise the most. She wasn’t sure what the visions meant, but she knew something dire was going to happen in the young girl’s life. She also knew her own time was marked, shortened by The Quickening. She knew she wouldn’t be there to help at the very moment Jenevier would need her the most. So this exceptional healer secretly used a bit of forbidden magic. Just a touch, mind you. Only enough to ensure the maiden some small measure of peace. A bit of magical help she could obtain in the future… were the child to prove herself strong enough.
    Jezreel came for many visits that summer. Mostly, she missed Jenevier. But Jezreel also looked up to her friend’s gentle aunt, placed her upon a pedestal in her mind. She wanted to be just like her one day.
    Jezreel’s own family wasn’t blessed with the same healing talent in their bloodline. Yet, she proved to be an excellent student. Marlise often commented on how talented she was at mixing the potions precisely.
    “Two healers working together are far stronger than ten healers working alone,” she would say.
    The girls seemed to each know exactly what the other was thinking. They worked as well together as if they shared the same mind.
    Marlise would smile and tell them how their futures were hopelessly entangled. “No two people of different blood are as connected as you girls. Your destinies are as entwined as your whispers and giggles. Hold true to one another. For I should say, one shall fall or stand by the grace of the other.”
    Jezreel was nearly as heartbroken as Jenevier when Marlise’s last bloody tear trickled down her pale, sunken cheek. The sad day her spirit was finally released from the plagued body imprisoning it.
     
    *****
     
    Jenevier literally felt her heart tear—a gaping wound that would never fully heal. Her mind swayed as the world around her slipped from its axis. Stability and certainty were now things of the past. Today… Jenevier first experienced the pain of death, the debilitating pain of epic loss. All she could do to release the wretched ache fast filling her chest was to scream.
    Jezreel came running. When she made it