Two Mates and A Descendant
The creature opens its mouth to talk, and its voice echoes, beautifully so, but it seems to vibrate the dream world.
“Hazel!” the mist says, their eyes glowing. “The threads of destiny are being woven, and you have been chosen to be the weaver. A war is looming, invisible to mortal eyes. Only you can untangle the mess that your people are in!” The urgency in the voice of the mist jars me.
What is it talking about? Frowning, I try to understand what I have been told.
“My people? War? I don’t understand!” I flail my arms around. “And even if so, why me?" I question, my voice echoing as well.
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