The horses in the stable went wild, they knew of the storm coming. She, however, sat at her desk unaware that a dark cloud made its way through the clear blue skies, searching for a place to stay and release its torrent of fluvial distress. She lived alone in a small homestead nestled on a piece of fenced land that felt like a little world of its own. Two cats wove between her legs, their purring, a gentle contrast to the faint bleating of a small flock of sheep that dotted the pasture. Three horses brayed at a distance and the subtle scent of grass wafted through her home. Her attention, though, lay solely on the book she read, something about the Dresden Codex of the Mayans, its pages steeped in hieroglyphics referencing something about the relationship between astronomical phenomena and human emotion. The old tome was a sort of blessing, as she needed to divert her mind from the legal matters that seemed to grow in the shadowed corners. The more she tried to ignore the reality of having to leave the only home she’d ever known, the more fury built within her. “They think they can take it all,” she whispered bitterly. Her reflection in the window glared back at her. “The land, the sheep, the horses…everything for a mere piece of entertainment, just a place of chaos and indulgence.” Humans seemed to be…what’s the word…predisposed to deception, to betray the very essence of who they are; programmed from birth to charm and tell stories that feel good and wholesome—until they grow bored and distressed for the lack of things to do or places to conquer or people to manipulate. Then, they can no longer hold the beautiful mask, the perpetual smile now carved stiffly on a bed of rot. But that was life. That was the way of people. “Fascinating,” she murmured, now back on the book, running her fingers over the page. “How did they understand so much? The stars, the cycles, even the more subtle nuances of what it means to be human with the grace we’ve now buried beneath the rubble of noise and ambition.” Her voice trailed off as her focus deepened. She was intrigued by the intricate gylphs that seemed to almost move across the page. Of course, she couldn’t understand the strange symbols. Instead, she read the translation of them and was so intrigued by their mystery that she hadn’t noticed the winds pushing against the windows, the flickering lights of her lamps remained unnoticed. And the silence that had reigned for decades was suddenly interreptued by a sharp banging at the door. “Hello ma’am!” called a voice from outside the door. “Ma’am! You need to talk to-” A gust of wind cut him off, nearly knocking him off the porch. He grabbed the railing, his face contorted with exhaustion. “Not him again,” she growled under her breath, her voice tinged with frustration. “When will they ever learn?” She slammed her fist onto the desk, sending the neatly arranged items tumbling to the floor, the ancient book landing on the old wooden floor. A man of about thirty with a stilted accent that held an air of having come from far away, stood on her porch, clutching a worn briefcase against his chest. Through the window, she could see the strain in his posture, as if the wind were trying to pull him back into the storm, away from her; away from her land. His coat flapped wildly around him, but his eyes, sharp and searching, remained fixed on her door with a strange urgency. “Please, ma’am,” he called out, his voice strained against the howling wind. “We need your signature on these documents to proceed with the new terms for your property. Without it, you risk losing everything. I urge you to act now to protect your interests.” Before she could open the door, the winds calmed, and a strange zephyr swirled around the man. The gentle breeze lifted him effortlessly, propelling him upward. His coat billowed around him like the wings of a great bird, and for a fleeting moment, he hovered, suspended between earth and sky, a living marionette guided by invisible strings. As he began to drift away, carried by the current, his voice, imbued with a haunting urgency, echoed to her: “Please, Mrs. Tempest, please consider—”