Forged in Dreams and Magick

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The damn rental car resisted my rusty attempts at downshifting. I gripped the stick’s cracked knob harder, fighting a choking cramp at the base of my throat. My efforts at holding my emotions at bay failed. Loud sobs burst free from my lungs, echoing in the confines of the small car as fresh memories of a final goodbye imprinted into my mind.

My grandfather’s wise, time-worn eyes had looked deep into mine as rogue tears sprang forth, coating my lashes. He’d been lying in his death bed. A nurse waited in the only other room of the tiny cottage he’d called home his entire life. He smiled, crinkling sun-weathered skin from the corners of his mouth to his emerald-green eyes. Aged hands caressed my cheeks, gently pulling my head down as he touched his lips to my forehead. I inhaled his comforting scent, a sweet mixture of cigar and the clove-flavored black tea he loved so much.

“Och, sweet Isobel. Doona shed tears for me. The years . . . they’ve been good.”

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