Alli sat on the porch of the broken house again, in a wooden rocking chair, brought out from inside – made of wood almost as gray as that of the porch. It was now early afternoon. The brilliant, electric-blue sky had been replaced by a cloudy hue, the color a soft, eggshell white.
The drizzle drummed on the black, old shingles of the roof, twisted and turned out of their places. Thunder grumbled beyond her view. The trees looked black on the horizon. Lightning flashed – Alli blinked her eyes and it was gone. The rain wind wafted the fresh smell of wet earth across the land.
Æon stood in the middle of the field of yellow flowers, now looking off-white under the dishwater-colored sky. She wore clothes like what Alli wore when she was in high school, walking through this very same field, almost twenty years ago – a jean jacket over a green sweat shirt, faded jeans, trainers.
She stood in the middle of the field, the Sky Avatar, and let the lightning illuminate her face. Æon crossed through the field toward Alli, an angel in disguise, pushing her way through the tall grass and the raindrops, sweet and cool. She smiled and waved. No doubt, Aro had encouraged her to come here.
Alli watched her make her way up the ancient, rotting porch. Æon sat in the matching, rickety rocking chair Alli had placed out for her. They listened to the gentle whistle of the breeze, watched the thunderheads move in the distance, saw the setting sun break through the rainy gloom.
Æon rocked the chair, in a homey sort of way. Alli was still, “So, you’ve come to tell me to open my third eye, or something like that, right?”
Æon smiled again, and stopped rocking, “It’s finally time for you to become what you were always meant to be.”
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