“Don’t take another step toward me, Rowan.” Arwen angrily pointed her magic stick at Rowan in defense.
Rowan seemed more curious than anything… she took a step closer as if to test Arwen’s resolve.
“… don’t get any…”
“… CLOSER!!!” This time, Arwen felt the magic burst through her and then through the stick.
Rowan was propelled backward by the green blast that erupted from Arwen’s “stick”.
Arwen ran out of the cemetary high on adrenaline, fear, fury and fight or flight. She hopped onto her bike and rode. She rode all night. Angry. Scared. Alone.
Eventually, she made her way home, exhausted and a mess, physically and emotionally. Her was covered in tears and dirt, she gazed at Hank in the Fall Festival photo. It seemed so long ago… and it was. She realized she couln’t tell him. About the stick, the cemetary, the ghost (her mother?)… How could he ever understand? Even though she had bounced from foster home to foster home as an orphan, tonight was the loneliest night of her life. She was alone… all alone.