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[RIGHT][color=afa3f5][sub]Monday, April 14th, 23:45[/sub][/color][/RIGHT][hr][RIGHT][color=afa3f5][sup]En Route, 13 Mourningdove Lane[/sup][/color][/RIGHT]

Emmeline Longwell was no stranger to late nights. She'd grown quite familiar with them over her years as a student, whether they were spent curled up with a book in hand or tediously leaning over her desk as she finished assignments. She would much rather be doing either at the moment, yet her curiosity and worries held her hostage as the driver took her past the town's limits and towards a destination she was not sure she wanted to reach.

Her gaze was firmly locked on the rolling landscape as she gazed out of the passenger side window. The all too familiar feeling of motion sickness had settled in her stomach like lead since the drive began, along with the anxiety that had nested there since the letter arrived. The feeling would only worsen if she dared to check how much further they had to go, and so her gloved hands twisted impatiently in her lap while her mind wandered.

There had been plenty of moments in Emmy's life when it felt like the ground had been swept out from beneath her feet. Only one moment could compare to the feeling that had washed over her in a dizzying wave when she'd read the contents of that mysterious missive. The inexplicable events of the last week had all but been wrapped up in a neat little bow, with only a few words to tie it.

Before today, she'd blamed it on her illness, on the whimsical book she'd been reading, and even assumed that perhaps her body's weaknesses had finally claimed her mind as well. There'd been times when her vision had ebbed in and out of clarity, and so she assumed that the sudden differences between the objects she'd unknowingly affected had been a trick of her syndrome.

All of those theories were plausible, rational, and yet the moment the word [i]magic[/i] had run through her mind, she felt the presence of it course through her body, flow through the air around her, consume the paper she'd barely finished reading and turn it to dust, falling through the fingers of time to collect at her feet.


[indent][i]Emmeline, I hope this letter finds you at the right time.

The past cannot change, but you are exactly where you need to be. Magic can turn the hands of time, and now you are the key. You've felt it in every passing moment, ticking on like the hands of a clock. You are one of the first mages in five hundred years. Bring your open mind and I will give you all of the information you need.

13 Mourningdove Lane. Midnight.

-The Archivist"[/i][/indent]
Her mother had read fables to her as a child of a world that lived in magic and fantasy. That the people had wielded it as easily as the air they breathed. Their bodies graced with a power that allowed them to do impossible things, wonderful things. That one day, long ago, that source of power had been taken from them and those once gifted were left mundane.

If this Archivist was speaking the truth, then Emmy could only guess that they knew why the magic had been taken. That they were somehow aware of why the magic had returned, aware of who had been given it's power a week ago-- aware of [i]her[/i]. It was as unsettling to consider as it was intriguing.

She struggled to believe that she was one of the gifted. Though her heart had accepted it easily, her mind grappled with the truth. How could she compare to those in the fables, who were written to have had seamless control of their power? The thin black gloves that seemed to hold her magic at bay since she'd donned them earlier that evening were answer enough. She could control her diet, she could control her studies, she could control her mind, and yet there were two things she had no control of. The magic she'd been given seemed to be as afflicting as her disordered body.

Perhaps that was why she didn't ask the driver to turn around when they approached their destination. The darkness of the mansion should have been foreboding, and yet Emmy felt determination rising to overpower the apprehension.

The car stopped at the entrance to large, iron gates. Their open maw an invitation to enter. Though the driver offered to drop her closer to it's entrance, Emmy was already reaching for the doorhandle. She could already see two others entering through the ornate double doors at the front, and it only made her curiosity grow. Had they gotten letters, too?

Her request for the driver to wait nearby was spoken in an absentminded murmur as she watched the mansion swallow the strangers up like it had eaten them. She swung her legs out of the car slowly, ensuring that each boot was planted in the gravel, before she used the car door to pull herself onto her feet. The mansion swam in her vision for just a moment, but solidified as she shut the door behind her and started through the gates.

Her hands ran over her skirt to smooth it down as she walked. She ran over the questions she had in mind for this meeting, and managed to narrow them down to just a few by the time she approached the home. Her heart was already racing, and she wasn't sure if it was the nerves or because of the brisk pace she'd taken to get there. Either way, she took a breath to calm it as her eyes looked over the carvings placed in the wood before her. Her head tilted to the side to study it, but before she could ponder on the age of the doors they sensed her presence. Their panels swung open wide on their own volition, allowing her entry into the unknown.

Emmy didn't even blink. [i]Of course[/i] the doors were magic as well.

With no time to spare, and a lifted chin and squared shoulders, Emmy took the first steps into the mansion. She knew it was time for the meeting to start without even a glance at her watch.