It was late, and she knew she needed to sleep but this new novel had consumed her mind. She couldn’t put it down. She relaxed in a comfortably worn oversized armchair that seemed to swallow her frame like the warmest, most lingering embrace. A cup of tea, long gone cold, standing on the table next to her sanctuary of imagination.

She had spent the entire day here, not even bothering to change from the clothes she slept in the night before. She was so utterly consumed that the day had passed without note, the hours counted out by her wall clock fell on deaf ears, the only ears in the house, unless you counted the field mice that had begun making a home under the cabinets in her kitchen.

Just as she hadn’t paid any mind to the light fading as the day dwindled, she was unaware of the storm clouds building and the wind swelling against the trees. Even the sound of the rain battering the ground and the house went unnoticed, until the first crack of thunder preceded almost immediately by the most brilliant white flash of lightning. She jumped, fumbling her book and knocking against the table enough that the cold tea sloshed over the sides of the cup.

“Shit.” She spit out as she was plunged into darkness. The lightning strike had knocked out the power. She made her way to her study, where she kept a supply of candles and matches, slowly, navigating by memory when not aided by the intermittent illumination from the lightning. She fished around in the drawer finding a thick pillar candle which she placed on a decorative saucer. The saucer was already littered with wax drippings from previous candles. She reached back into the drawer searching for the box of matches, but her hand encountered something cold, so cold that she recoiled as though it had burned her. She reached back in, attempting to discover what this foreign item was in a drawer that should have been nothing but candles and a box of matches, but it was nowhere to be found. She found the matches and struck one and continued to rifle through the contents of the drawer in search of what had been so cold. It wasn’t there, nothing but candles of various sizes and colors greeted her searching eyes and hand. The match burning down in her other hand singed her fingers. “Ouch! Dammit!” she sputtered as she extinguished the flame and struck another.

She immediately lit the waiting candle this time. As she extinguished the match the floor shook beneath her feet as a loud crash happened behind her, coupled with a abrupt whoosh of air, that threatened to expunge the candle she had just given life to. She jumped searching for the origin of the sound, fearing that one of her sizeable oak bookshelves had tipped over. But nothing was out of place… except a small shiny stone in the middle of the room that seemed to glow in the dim candlelight.

She tentatively made her way across the room to the unusual stone on her study floor. As she approached the air seemed to grow colder. She squatted near it, examining it without touching it. Curious, but not fearful. As she reached out to touch the strange stone she could feel cold emanating from its glowing surface. She hesitated less than an inch from its smooth form, gathering her courage. She closed the gap grasping and lifting it in one fluid movement, bringing it to eyelevel for a closer inspection. As she had made contact the luminous glow began to fade. She made her way back to the desk with the candle to observe it under better light, turning it over in her hands, running her fingers over its silky-smooth surface.

And then the door slammed, but no one was there. Not only that, but when she spun around to look, the door still stood open. Oblivious to her perception. She had jumped, startled by the phantom sound, and dropped the stone on the desk. She walked to the door, looking into the dark hallway as if she could have seen anything in the vast darkness.

As she stood in the open doorway to the study, a shiver ran up her spine that made her pull her hooded sweatshirt closer to her neck. Her mind wandered a moment before returning to thoughts of that mysterious stone. She returned to the candlelit desk, eyes adjusting to the brightness of the dull candle after the absolute darkness of the hallway. She easily found the stone where it had dropped, but now it had lost all its previous luster and icy coldness. As she turned it over in her hands once more, she noticed a crack in its previously immaculately smooth surface.

Just then the stone became hot! Not warm from the warmth of her hands, but an inferno like it was a coal from an active fireplace that she had picked up with bare hands. She dropped it again, the second impact causing the newly acquired crack to fracture the stone completely. The equal pieces rolled slightly away from one another, exposing the fresh surface, from which a flame immediately sprang from. In spite of the heat and light emanating from this flaming stone nothing around it was burned. Not even the wooden desk!

Then as suddenly as she had dropped the stone, a hand dropped heavily and abruptly on her shoulder. Her mind reeled. There was no one else in the house. Whose hand was on her shoulder?!? Then a rough but kind voice spoke from behind her. “You’ve broken my heart.” Stated the owner of the hand, resting on her shoulder. It was all too much to take in, too much that couldn’t be explained away by coincidence for her over tired mind to process. And with that she crumpled to the floor in a faint.

When she awoke again, she was slouched in her armchair, treasured novel in her lap, teacup on the side table. But the tea was fresh and still steaming when she reached for it to quench her parched mouth. And hiding behind the teacup was the broken stone from her desk, still burning, without destruction.