The Locket

Mara’s heart raced as she pedaled faster along the narrow forest path. The afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows between the towering trees. It was her favorite time of day—the golden hour—when everything seemed to glow with a hint of magic. The wind whispered through the leaves, carrying the sweet scent of pine and earth. Mara loved this time alone, away from the noise of the village, away from her worries.

As she rounded a bend, her bike tire caught on a thick root that jutted out of the ground. Mara yelped, losing her balance and tumbling to the side. She landed softly in a pile of leaves, laughing despite herself.

She picked herself up and dusted off her jeans. That’s when she saw it—a glint of silver amidst the dirt and leaves. Curiosity piqued, Mara crouched down and reached for it. Her fingers closed around a cold, metal object. She pulled it free from the earth to find a small, heart-shaped locket, intricately designed with swirling patterns on its surface.

Mara sat back on her heels, turning the locket over in her hand. It felt heavy, like it was made of real silver. She tried to open it, but the clasp seemed stuck. With a frown, she slipped it into her pocket, deciding she’d inspect it more closely when she got home.

She climbed back on her bike and continued down the path, the mysterious locket weighing on her thoughts.

Back at home, Mara went straight to her room. She washed off the dirt from her hands, then pulled out the locket and examined it under the warm light of her desk lamp. The craftsmanship was remarkable—like something from another time. She pressed her thumbnail against the clasp again, wiggling it until, with a soft click, it popped open.

Inside, she found a tiny photograph on one side. The image was faded and yellowed with age, but she could make out the smiling face of a young woman with long, dark hair and bright eyes. On the opposite side was an inscription, written in delicate cursive:

“To my dearest Evelyn, forever in my heart.”

Mara’s curiosity deepened. Who was Evelyn, and why had her locket been buried in the woods? She had never heard of anyone in her village with that name.

Over the next few days, Mara couldn’t stop thinking about the locket. She showed it to her grandmother, an elderly woman with a sharp mind and a treasure trove of stories about their village.

Her grandmother’s eyes widened when she saw the photograph. “Where did you find this, Mara?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“In the forest,” Mara replied. “Why? Do you know who she is?”

Her grandmother sat down heavily in a chair. “This locket belonged to Evelyn Blackwood. She disappeared from our village nearly seventy years ago.”

Mara’s eyes widened. “What happened to her?”

“No one knows for sure,” her grandmother said. “Evelyn was a kind and beautiful young woman, engaged to a man named Henry. But one day, she simply vanished without a trace. The whole village searched for her for weeks, but she was never found. Some say she ran away; others believe something terrible happened to her in those woods.”

A chill ran down Mara’s spine. She felt a strange connection to Evelyn, as if the young woman were reaching out to her from across time.

That night, Mara dreamt of the forest. She saw Evelyn running through the trees, her dark hair flowing behind her. Evelyn looked back over her shoulder, her face a mask of fear. Mara tried to call out to her, but no sound came. She woke up with a start, the locket cold against her skin where she had fallen asleep holding it.

The next day, Mara decided to return to the forest. She felt compelled to go back to the spot where she had found the locket, as if some unseen force were guiding her.

As she walked along the familiar path, the forest seemed different—quieter, more solemn. She reached the bend where she had fallen, and for a moment, everything was still. Then, a soft whispering sound reached her ears. She turned around slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.

There, standing a few feet away, was a figure—a woman with long, dark hair and bright eyes. Mara gasped, recognizing her from the photograph in the locket. It was Evelyn.

Evelyn’s lips moved, but Mara couldn’t hear her. She took a cautious step forward, and Evelyn raised her hand, pointing to a spot on the ground.

Mara followed her gesture and saw something half-buried in the dirt. She knelt down and brushed away the leaves and soil, revealing a small, weathered diary. She picked it up and opened it to the first page, where a name was written in neat, flowing script: Evelyn Blackwood.

As Mara flipped through the pages, she realized it was Evelyn’s journal, detailing her life in the village, her love for Henry, and her growing fear of a shadow that seemed to follow her everywhere.

The last entry was chilling: “I fear this will be my last night. The shadow is closer now. If anyone finds this, please remember me. Tell Henry I love him.”

Mara looked up, but Evelyn was gone. The forest was silent once more.

Back in her room, Mara read through the journal in its entirety, piecing together the events leading up to Evelyn’s disappearance. She learned that Evelyn had been followed by a stranger, a man who had been obsessed with her. He had threatened her, claiming that if he couldn’t have her, no one could.

With this new information, Mara knew she had to do something. She took the locket and journal to the village historian, who helped her uncover the identity of the man who had stalked Evelyn—an outsider who had been living on the outskirts of the village at the time.

With this evidence, the village finally understood what had happened to Evelyn. The truth brought a sense of closure to the long-unsolved mystery.

Mara returned to the forest one last time, standing in the place where she had first found the locket. She felt a sense of peace, knowing that Evelyn’s story had been told. As she turned to leave, a soft breeze brushed against her cheek, like a whisper of thanks.

Mara smiled, clutching the locket tightly in her hand. She knew Evelyn was finally at rest, and that she had been meant to find the locket—to bring light to a story lost in the shadows of time.

[read Rewinding Time: Burning At The Stake (PT 1, 2 & 3)]

As we navigated the chaos of the Civil War battlefield, our senses were assaulted by the sights and sounds of conflict. Smoke billowed from the cannonades, and the ground beneath our feet shook with each distant explosion. The air was thick with tension and the cries of wounded soldiers.

Mearle led the way, his eyes sharp and his staff glowing faintly, guiding us through the turmoil. The other witches and warlocks stayed close, their presence a steadying force against the backdrop of chaos. We knew our mission was to find the next piece of the puzzle, but the battlefield seemed an unlikely place to uncover ancient secrets.

As the device pulsed with its newfound energy, we were suddenly snapped back to the harsh reality of our surroundings. The clamoring sounds of distant battle intensified, and through the swirling mist, a figure emerged—an armed soldier from the Confederacy. His uniform was tattered, and his eyes were filled with suspicion and wariness.

"Halt! Who goes there?" he demanded, raising his rifle and eyeing our group with obvious distrust.

Before we could respond, he reached for a bugle hanging from his belt and blew a sharp, urgent blast. The sound echoed ominously across the battlefield, signaling an alert to his comrades.

"Run!" Mearle shouted, but it was too late. From the shadows, more soldiers emerged, surrounding us with weapons drawn. The hostile tension was palpable, and there was no escape.

"Drop your staff! Hands where I can see them!" the commanding officer barked, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Reluctantly, Mearle lowered his staff, the glow fading as it touched the ground. We were quickly disarmed and forced into a makeshift cell within a dilapidated barn nearby. The soldiers secured the door with a heavy iron lock, leaving us in the dim, murky confines of our prison.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with defeat and uncertainty. The musty smell of hay and damp earth filled the air. The light from the device had dimmed, hidden beneath my tattered cloak to avoid detection.

Elara’s face was etched with concern as she whispered, "We must find a way out. We can't be held here; our mission is too important."

Mearle nodded, his eyes scanning our surroundings for any potential means of escape. "These soldiers are desperate and suspicious. We need to be cautious, but... we also need to be quick."

As we strategized, the reality of our situation sank deeper. The soldiers outside were Confederate, and we were far from home, deep within a warzone where any perceived threat was dealt with harshly. But giving up was not an option. With the ancient device in our possession and the knowledge we had gained, the fate of our mission lay in the balance.

I tightened my grip on the hidden device, determination flaring within me. We had to escape, not just for ourselves, but for the future that depended on us. Our next move could very well dictate the course of our journey, and failure was not an option.

With a shared nod of resolve, we began searching our cell for any opportunity, any weakness in our confinement, that could lead us to freedom. The night outside pressed heavily upon us, each minute ticking away like a drumbeat of fate.

But we would not be deterred. Together, we were stronger—bound by purpose and the unyielding belief that we could change the course of history. And with that belief as our guide, we prepared ourselves for whatever came next.

Inside the cramped cell, desperation flickered in our eyes. We couldn't afford to stay trapped while the fate of our mission hung in the balance. As we scoured the dim confines of the barn, Mearle's eyes suddenly gleamed with an idea.

"There's a weak spot over here," he whispered, pointing to a section of the wall where aging wood had started to deteriorate.

The group rallied quickly, quietly working to pry open the slats. Elara used a minor spell to soften the wood, allowing us to create a small opening just large enough to slip through. One by one, we squeezed out, emerging into the cool night air, the sounds of distant battle still echoing around us.

Freedom beckoned, but it was not without danger. As soon as we stepped out, an alarmed shout rang through the night. "There they are! Stop them!"

The Confederate soldiers, alerted by our escape, charged towards us, their weapons glinting menacingly in the moonlight. We sprinted away, adrenaline coursing through our veins, the urgency driving our every step.

Suddenly, the ancient device in my hands began to vibrate, the patterns glowing once more. Before I could comprehend what was happening, a portal shimmered into existence right in our path—a swirling vortex of colors and light, different from anything we had seen before.

"Quickly, through the portal!" Mearle shouted, his voice ringing with a mixture of awe and urgency.

Without hesitation, we dove into the portal, the soldiers' shouts fading behind us as the vortex enveloped us. The journey through the portal was disorienting, a whirlwind of sensations and colors.

When we emerged, the world around us had changed. We found ourselves standing in the bustling streets of New York City, but it was still the Civil War era. The clamor of urban life filled our senses—the clattering of horse-drawn carriages, the chatter of pedestrians, and the distant hum of industry.

We stood there, catching our breaths, taking in the unfamiliar yet historical surroundings. The portal closed behind us with a soft whoosh, leaving us momentarily stunned.

"Did... did the device do that?" I asked, holding up the ancient device that had been our guide.

Mearle examined the device, nodding thoughtfully. "It must have been the object we found on the battlefield," he said. "It seems to have unlocked new capabilities in the device, allowing it to create portals through time and space."

Elara's eyes widened with understanding. "This changes everything. We have a powerful tool at our disposal now, but we must use it wisely."

As the realization sank in, the weight of our mission felt both heavier and more hopeful. We had new capabilities and new challenges, but with this newfound power, our chances of success had never been greater.

Gathering our resolve, we prepared to navigate this new environment and continue our quest. The ancient device, now more potent than ever, was our beacon in the dark, guiding us through the trials and uncertainties ahead.

Our journey through time was far from over, but together, we would face whatever came our way—armed with knowledge, determination, and the unshakable belief that we could change the course of history.

We stood amidst the bustling energy of 1860s New York City, our breaths still heavy from the mad dash and unexpected journey. The contrast between the chaos of the battlefield and the bustling streets was striking. The city was alive with activity—vendors calling out their wares, newspapers boys shouting headlines, and horse-drawn carriages clattering along cobblestone streets.

"We need a place to regroup and figure out our next move," Elara stated, her voice firm yet cautious.

Mearle glanced around, spotting an inn with a modest sign hanging above its door: The Liberty Hotel. "Over there," he said, pointing. "That should provide us some shelter."

We made our way through the crowd, trying to blend in despite our unconventional attire and the ancient device still clutched tightly in my grip. Entering the lobby of The Liberty Hotel, we were met with the warm glow of gas lamps and the comforting hum of conversation. The decor was simple but cozy, with worn but well-kept furniture and a roaring fireplace that offered a respite from the nighttime chill.

The innkeeper, a stout man with a bushy mustache, looked up as we approached the front desk. His eyes lingered on our group, curiosity piqued. "What can I do for you folks?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.

Mearle stepped forward, his British accent making him sound particularly distinguished. "Good evening. We require a room for the night, and perhaps some discretion."

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow but nodded. "We've got one room available. Two beds and a bit of space on the floor if need be." He glanced at the ancient device partially hidden beneath my cloak but said nothing. "Payment upfront."

Mearle reached into his robes, producing a few coins from a hidden pocket. The innkeeper nodded in satisfaction, sliding a key across the worn counter. "Room 3, up the stairs. Enjoy your stay."

We climbed the narrow, creaky staircase to the second floor, finding our room at the end of the hall. Once inside, we locked the door and collectively exhaled, the sense of temporary safety a palpable relief. The room was simple, with two wooden beds, a threadbare carpet, and a small table by the window offering a view of the busy street below.

"We need to figure out our next steps," Mearle said, placing his staff gently against the wall and turning to face us.

Elara nodded, looking thoughtful. "The object we found has unlocked new abilities in the device. We must understand it better before we use it again. And we need to determine our next destination—how to continue piecing together the puzzle left by Sage Bishop."

I sat down on one of the beds, the weight of the device heavy in my hands. "This... this is all so much," I admitted, the enormity of our task threatening to overwhelm me.

Mearle sat beside me, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Remember, you're not alone in this. We are here with you, and together, we'll see this through."

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. "Thank you. Let's figure this out."

As the night deepened, we gathered around the small table, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows. We studied the device, discussing its potential and planning our next moves. The road ahead was uncertain, but with Mearle, Elara, and the coven by my side, I felt a renewed sense of purpose.

Our journey through time was fraught with danger, but our mission had never been clearer. We would uncover the secrets of the ancient device, outwit our pursuers, and continue our quest to save our future—one step at a time.

Mina sighs.

This is impossible.

Sitting at her desk, she taps her pencil rapidly against her notebook. Distractedly, she looks out her window, the bright sun streaming in. She could faintly hear the sound of lawnmowing.

“i’ll be over soon mom is nt letting me leave so easy” Mina read Thea’s text, and she lets her pencil fall.

She decided that she needed to write down everything about Dory’s missing case that she knew. Sometimes compiling it and going over it can help see things differently. With Thea, hopefully she’ll be able to think of something that Mina can’t.

Maybe a whiteboard would be better? Mina wonders if her mom got rid of it or not. They may need to have a Stiles Stilinski moment. There is definitely colored yarn around here.

Glancing down, she begins to read her notes out loud.

“Dory disappeared seven days ago. It was somehow done during the day (see notes about party). It wasn’t willing (she wouldn’t leave without telling Thea). Whoever took her probably thought she was Thea (their full names are confusing). Who are Thea’s enemies?”

She’s missing something. She thought they were making progress when she realized their name mix up. Off topic, Dorothea and Adora. Who names their kids that?

Turning the page to her party notes, she begins reciting them. “Fourth of July party at Nelly Tara’s house. It began around 2 pm and ended around 10 pm. Both Thea and Dory went together with some friends. Thea already didn’t feel well and left. Dory said a friend would drive her home. Window she had to disappear was 3:10 to 6:30. By that time, absolutely no one can recount seeing her.”

Many things aren’t adding up. How could she just vanish in broad daylight? With all those people around?

She brings up the photos that people have sent her from that day. There is something tugging at her brain, but it isn’t surfacing.

Her phone buzzes, startling her, interrupting her thoughts. Thea is calling her.

Mina picks up and puts it on speaker phone. “Hey, my mom finally let me out. She is understandably nervous anytime I leave the house. She also is annoyed so say thanks to the stupid lawn guy.”

“What did he do? Cut the lawn too short?” She asks absentmindedly as she continues scanning the pictures. “No, he was late today to cut which ticks her off because he has not got a good rep with this whole neighborhood recently. Mrs. T ranted to my mom about him leaving early last time for a family emergency. Didn’t even finish it until three days later,” Thea answers.

“When was that?” One of Mina’s talents is just asking questions to avoid talking about what is going on in her head.

“Last week.” Mina’s eyes drift to a picture just as Thea replies. It is one with two girls from her class posing on the front lawn. They are obviously in the forefront, but in the back you can see the driveway. A truck with a lawnmower slogan on the side. One that is currently in her next door neighbor’s front.

“Like on the fourth? He was at Nelly Tara’s house?”

Mina can hear Thea huffing from walking, probably rushing because she’s late. “Yeah, Nelly was so mad that her mom didn’t rescehdule him because of her party. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because he was never mentioned or interviewed by the police,” Mina states with a bit of urgency.

“He wasn’t there for very long that I heard. Left pretty soon after I did. Probably felt uncomfortable around a bunch of teenagers. He’s cut everyone’s lawns this summer,” Thea responds.

Looking at the pictures, she swipes to one that she knew Dory was in. It was the last known image of her. She is looking at something off screen. Worriedly.

Mina goes to a different picture that was around the same time from another angle.

You can’t see Dory in this one, but from the other picture, you can figure out that she probably stood to the left corner.

In this one, there is a group dancing in the foreground. But on the right behind them is the lawn guy. Staring to the left, where Dory would’ve been.

“Oh my god.”

——— This is sort of a sequel to “Finding Dory (the Human)” but it can pretty much be read separately. I actually thought I had posted this and realized it was still in my drafts.

Ever since I was old enough to remember, my main goal in life was to be normal. Who knew that would be the biggest backfire of the century.

My mother always talked about how I would be this amazing leader. That someday I would be brave and daring, saving lives and being front and center in the spotlight, with the world singing my praises. She wouldnt talk about him much, but my dad was the same way. He was the kindest soul I had ever met, and I’m not being baised. Everyone talks about how incredible he was, and how he saved the world with only two other people, one of them being my mother. The amount of pressure to live up to his greatness scared me. So to my mothers dismay, I stayed in the background, hoping that nobody would notice what my mother saw in me. What everyone saw in me.

My dad died four years ago, a hunting accident, or thats what people told me. Before he left, he gave me my final birthday present. It had been my thirteenth birthday, and he had woken me up with the biggest smile on his face. He was always so enthusiastic about birthdays. He never had a proper one growing up, so he had always tried to make mine special. Every year I had gotten a cool book from one of his travels or maybe even a welded sword from his glory days. The only thing that was consistant was the letters he had written to me. They always started the same, “To my brave Kiandra, stay strong.” I had always been confused at why he had written that, but now looking back, maybe he had meant it as a comfort?

I heard laughter from your side of the room. You whispered with your friend. Giggled about some inside joke. I wondered what you were talking about, But I felt uneasy.

Because unless someone has an obvious character flaw, Or they rub me the wrong way from the beginning, I make the mistake of caring what they think. Especially in this case, With all the forced proximity.

It wasn’t all that interesting, But then you whispered again, And I could have sworn I heard my name this time.

I understand I’m a little strange. Some more than that even, And that when I’m less comfortable, I take up more space, Like a balloon too big for the room it’s in. But I didn’t think I was worthy conspiring against.

I know they talk about the importance of assertive communication, But it’s much easier to seem cold and distant. I’ve always been naturally passive agressive.

We continued to walk through the stalls of the market. The smells of food wares and sounds of kitchen utensils filled the air. There were fabric vendors with brightly colored skeins varying from silk to wool. An ale cart was parked at a corner where the market turned onto a different path.

My mouth watered at the thought of enjoying a cool cup of bubbly ale as I stared at the barrel.

“Let’s grab a drink while we walk,” Grey said. I jerked my head to look at him and caught him smiling at me. “I remember how much you like the dark beers.”

“You just remember how I behave when I drink the dark beer,” I said and chuckled while a memory of him hauling my drunk ass out of the bar and down the road to the quiet inn we had rented a room at. “But I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Grey winked at me and said, “Wait here, I will go get them.”

I leaned against the wall and watched him walk to the vendor. His clothes hugging his lean body and the twin daggers at his lower back glinting in the sun.

Grey turned back around, two mugs in hand, and I realized with a start that I had been staring. I quickly shifted my eyes to the ground and deliberantly didn’t look up until Grey put the ale in front of my face. I smiled down at the dark frothy beverage before wrapping my hands around the cup and taking it from Grey.

Looking up at him, I held my ale up in a salute and said “To us two fools for braving this place in the middle of a job.”

Grey beamed a brilliant smile at me, the dimple catching in his cheek as he tilted his head down while lifting his hand.

We each took a swig of the ale and the bubbly taste immediately elevated my mood. “This is just what I needed. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a good beer?” Grey chuckled, “I don’t know about you, but it was the week before you showed back up for me.” I met his eyes at the implication before saying, “Let’s keep going.” I brushed past him and ignored the confused look in his blue eyes. Taking another long swig of the ale, I continued through the market never forgetting that Grey quietly trailed me. I noticed a lone vendor cart off to the side away from everyone else. The cart wasn’t even a cart, but more of a large chest opened vertically to reveal several small shelves covered in a velvety fabric. Next to the cart was an old woman sitting on a small wooden stool, her hands busy with something I couldn’t see yet. Something pulled at my gut to see what was in the chest. I downed the rest of my ale, wincing at the bitter yet wonderful taste and turned around to see Grey stopped at a food vendor of sorts. I made my way over to the lady and watched with fascination as I realized what type of wares this woman was peddling. She had a piece of fabric wrapping around her head and tied off at the top and wore plain clothes that hid her figure. She was wrapping a piece of very small metal around a blue stone, a long piece of leather lay draped across her leg. The chest was filled with similar creations. Stones and crystals of vibrant hues to darker tones that reflected light. Some were wrapped with that metal to create charms while others were in their raw form, jagged and opaque. I was looking at a small pearlescent stone that lay by itself on a velvet shelf when the woman said, “You’re a long way from home.” Whipping my head around to the woman, I caught her staring up at me. She wasn’t as old as she seemed by the lack of deep wrinkles on her face. She had lines around her mouth and crow’s feet by her eyes, but the hair escaping from the wrap was still the color of vibrant orange with hints of red. A few glints of silver shone through the color. I narrowed my eyes at her and said, “And how do you know where my home is?” The woman gave a small smile and pointed to her hair, “I know what color this hair becomes when one tries to cover it up.” Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. “Don’t worry, I won’t give you away. You should get that re-treated though.” I pulled the hood of my jacket up to cover most of my hair and pointed to the small stone. “Where did you find this and how much for it?” She leaned forwards to see what I pointed to and gave a soft smile. “The opal comes from the Isle of Heart to the south. I have only ever managed to have three to sell. This is the last. It is said that they bring balance and harmony to one’s soul.” The beginnings of a childhood memory started to resurface. A small opal stone with a piece of fabric threaded to a hoop hung from a woman’s neck…but the memory flitted away after that. “I can feel the turmoil and unrest in your soul. For you, twenty marks,” she said. “Twenty marks? That’s it?” She really didn’t know what she was in possession of. “Deal,” I said as I reached into my pocket for the coins. “I definitely got the better bargain though.” “Don’t I know,” she said. “But something in the Divine is telling me you need it more than I need the sale.” I stared at the woman before replying, “You shouldn’t put your faith in the Divine. They tend to be selfish and lead you astray.”

He stands there, His legs light and his arms heavy. Closing his eyes as The wind combs his hair and Brush against his face. He felt his hair fall strand by strand and His body agonizingly melt liquid smooth. Two steps The winter flowers — roses, snowdrops, cyclamen covered in snow. He held a silver filigree pendant necklace with Jets, the only thing shining, up to the moon. His only thought, “What have I become now?” Is winter the only season one feels nothing and everything?

Walking Talking Finding Minding Staring Caring Burning Learning Text book New look History Mystery Yesterday Us today Faraway Giveaway Read Need Knowlege College Solve Resolve Fending Ending

A young man is walking home from school one day. It is a typical day for him. He finished school for the day, is walking home to an empty house. For as long as he has been in school his mom and dad have always worked. He waas told never to tell anyone he would be or is home alone. He thought he would make his way home, have a snack, and then watch tv. He never did homeowrk until at least one parent got home. Today would turn out to be different. He was about half way home when out of no where his mom called to make sure he had a good day at school. Ring, Ring, rrrriiinnnggg went the phone.

“Hello, mom.” He answered.

“Hey honey, how was your day?” Asked mom.

“Good.” He stated. He kept walking all the way home as he talked to his mom. He finished hung up with his mom just as he turned onto his sterrt. He was four house away when he tripped over a blanket that was bunched up on the sidewalk. He was not sure why it was ther but he dcied to take it home. He wlked the rest of the way home dragging the blanket. Once inside the house he decied to make a snack. He had never really cooked other than with her mom. Once in the house he set the blanket diown and his backpack.

He normally had chips, or crackers, or something simple for a snack while watching tv. Today he decied he wanted macaroni and cheese. He figured it could be hard to make. He pulled out a pot and found the box of macaroni and cheese. He filled the pot of water abd put it on the stove. He turn the stove on but was not sure how high so he turned it only to medium. Then he went to go watch tv. As usual he fell alseep watching tv. He woke up coughing. The pot had ran out of water and the itchen was full of smoke. He did not know what to do so he grabbed the blanket he brought home and ran into the kitchen. He started coughing really bad. He had to think quick. He turned off the stove and through the blanket on top of the ptot and the stove.

The air started to clear up. He left the blanket on the stove until his mom got home. She was more upset that he had a dirty filthy blanket on the stove more than anything. She was happy he was okay.

I didn’t rhink much of it when I bought it. It was beautiful of course but it was just jewelry. I bought the charm bracelet at a local market when I was in Egypt. It was stunning, so I bought it. There were 5 charms on it. The eye of Horus: represents healing The Isis knot: represents protection The ankh: represents life A scarab: represents power An obelisk: representing royalty Just my luck it gets me whisked away into a world of real life myths. Each charm represents and new power or status. Lucky me