Scene
Annastara fled, wings heavy with sorrow. The humans’ cries of “monster” still rang in her ears. She alighted near a narrow stream, its water catching pale threads of sunlight as though mocking her tears. Her stone fingers pressed into the earth, and for the first time since her rebirth, she felt truly alone.
Then the water rippled, though no wind stirred. A figure rose from its surface — tall and shimmering, her body translucent, shaped of liquid that caught the sky in her curves. She stood upon the stream as though it were solid glass.
“Do not fear,” the figure said, her voice like rain on leaves. “I am Teano of the Morraw. And you, stone-child, are my cousin.”
Annastara blinked, startled. “Cousin? But… I am not of water.”
Teano’s smile was a ripple across her form. “The Moroc are born of stone. We Morraw are born of water. But we share one origin — the Living Crystal that stirs within all the Mo-born. You are not so different from us as you think.”
A silence stretched, broken only by the murmuring stream. Then Annastara whispered, “I thought I had no kin.”
“You do now,” Teano said gently. “If ever you are lost, or lonely, seek a lake, a stream, a pond. Call my name, and I will come.”
Annastara’s wings folded closer, the weight of rejection easing just slightly. For the first time, hope stirred in her chest.