Speaker 1: Not all crossings are chosen, Some are fate, said once
by an optimist. Aboard the Titanic, Silver drifted into sleep,
curled beneath her cloak, exhaustion pulling her under like a
deep tide. On her side of reality sixteen ninety two,
it was night, cold and silent, but between worlds time
was not polite. It stretched, wavered, folded, and occasionally behaved
like a cat, ignoring rules out of pure spite. So
when she crossed over, it didn't happen instantly. It took
a breath, a heartbeat, a blink, and in that fragile
scene between worlds, Colt found her. Colt hadn't intended to
stumble into destiny. That morning, he left his cabin with
the perfectly reasonable goal of rabbit hunting, simple, non mystical,
comfortably predictable. He'd almost gotten sidetracked watching Henry silently bully
a squirrel from a tree branch, a ritual Colt still
didn't understand and suspected with some sort of feline powerplay.
But eventually he followed a narrow trail toward the cliffs.
That's when he saw it, a white garment draped across
a rock like a flag of surrender, or laundry belonging
to someone making questionable life choices. He stepped closer. There.
Tucked into a shallow cave, lay the woman. Fiery curls
spilled around her face, wild and tangled. A wool cloak
wrapped her like a rumpled cocoon. One pale hand clutched
a silver pendant, Its soft gleam unmistakable even in shadow.
His pendant cold froze, His pulse lurched, his stomach dropped,
his emotions staged a brief mutiny, and collectively quit at
first indignation surge Did she steal it? When? How? Why
steal a mystical heirloom instead of oh, I don't know shoes?
But logic, though wounded, returned. She couldn't have stolen it.
He hadn't seen the pendant since he fell off thunder
the day here arived, So how was she holding it?
Something old stirred in his chest. Fear awe recognition. Carefully,
he slid the pendant from her fingers. The leather cord
had slipped free of her neck, as if the necklace
itself had chosen the moment to let go. He tucked
it into his pocket heart racing and backed away without
waking her rabbit stew could wait, Destiny apparently could not.
Speaker 2: Silver woke with a gasp, chest tight pulse, skittering. For
one dizzy moment, she didn't know which world she was
standing in, or if she was standing at all. Then
it returned the cave, the rain, the escape, and him.
She crawled to the cave's mouth, just in time to
see the mysterious man striding toward the stream below. She
let out a breath relief, or something like it. He
hadn't harmed her. Then her hand rose instinctively to her throat. Nothing.
Her necklace was gone, her stomach dropped into her boots.
Silver tore through the cave, pine boughs, satchel, cloak hair,
anywhere a pendant could hide. Nothing. Cold certainty prickled up
her spine. He took it. She paced once twice, considered
hunting him down with righteous fury. Then, because she was
equal parts determined survivor an exhausted woman who had endured
far too much nonsense lately, she muttered, if that man
is a thief, I swear I will hex his favorite
boots and his future children. Feeling marginally better, She gathered
her belongings and followed the direction he'd gone. The forest
path opened into a familiar clearing, and her breath caught
her village. She ran, bursting into the green, spinning, laughing,
collapsing into the grass as joy spilled out of her
like sunlight. That was when Henry appeared. He sauntered over
like a monarch, inspecting his domain, tail high expression, unimpressed.
Without hesitation, he climbed onto her chest, silver squeaked, then
laughed Henry. She scooped up the fuzzy loaf of judgment,
hugging him like he was made of moonlight and miracles.
Henry purred. Then in the private language. Only cats and
very old souls understand, he thought, Oh, stars, help us.
Speaker 1: She's back and she's happy. This can only mean trouble.
Speaker 2: Outwardly, he simply blinked, the slow, regal blink of feline tolerance.
They stayed like that a long time, her whispering, soft laughter,
him pretending not to enjoy it.
Speaker 1: Colt watch from the hillside. She had called the cat
Henry his Henry. How why No? He refused to think
too hard about it. If he questioned how any of
this worked, he might snap in half. Hidden among the brush,
he stood frozen. He was radiant, wild, barefoot, laughing with
a joy that didn't belong in an abandoned world. His
chest tightened, Something inside him shifted, like the ground beneath
his life moved just enough to realign everything. This wasn't coincidence,
This wasn't madness. This was a beginning. He stayed hidden
long after she wandered toward the little whitewashed cottage, long
after her laughter faded into warm quiet, Long after Henry
strutted inside after her, like a furry punctuation mark. Colt
remained rooted to the earth. For the first time since
arriving here. He didn't feel lost. He felt guided. Silver's
Journal entry number one.
Speaker 2: Ink blot, chaotic handwriting. I found it, or rather it
found me again the village the Green Henry. Also a
man stole my necklace today, a very tall man with
gorgeous hair and very wide shoulders and possibly a death wish.
I will retrieve it after I nap