The darkness seemed overwhelming, as if the sun had set too quickly and dived to deep into the depths of night. But as it fell, the owl swooped down to land on Penny Rose's little shoulder. And there it sat, calm as daylight is in the afternoon, looking out into the daunting blackness. It cocked its head at her distress, evident upon her face, as she forlornly looked into the darkness of the trees around her, waiting for some noise to frighten her again. "Don't you want to see the loveliness of the light?" it asked her cryptically, and ruffled its wings, resettling them, contentedly, "It is most beautiful at night." Something Lucif-like flashed in its big eyes, but Penny Rose was too distracted to notice.As he finished his question, however, the box in Penny Rose's hands began to glow with a light all of its own, warming and shining, as if it was full of lovely joy. And then it seemed very strong, and as if it was growing, it broke free from her loosening fingers, winging up slightly, smoothly, to hover very stably in the air above her head and in front of her, quite as if it was sitting on something. However, then it began to turn. It turned quite slowly at first, and then as Penny Rose watched, it turned faster, until it broke open with the happiest of little clicks, and spilled out letters which seemed to hum melodiously, busily, like very beneficent bees, or birds that were busy making nests. Except, of course, they were not making making nests. Instead the letters, which were physical things, tactile, and shining, like blocks carved of bone, whirled and changed, all a whirlwind of energy, and started to capably arrange themselves into words. The words caught Penny Rose's attention immediately. "Don't be scared," they said, comfortingly vibrating in the air in front of her. "You are the Reader," that last word seemed to frisson with excitement. "So it is written, and so it is." The letters flew away quickly, to be replaced by more. "Read us and you will find your way," said the letters, "but first, you must open the box."
And with that they all ushered silently back in, the box closed, the light faded, a little, but even so, still glowed with a sort of impermiable joy. And it found her hand again and nestled in.
The owl gazed at her, as if expecting some sort of reaction. But Penny Rose's eyes were only excited and filled with radiance as she looked at the box. Then they fell slightly and she looked up at the owl. "This can't possibly be for me," she said, quietly, looking wonderingly at the box.
The owl hooted. "It doesn't do that for anyone else!" it exclaimed, and stepped closer to her ear. "And it's not all light and bright for the Reader, love. There's a long road ahead." With those words the very road seemed to start crumbling in front of her, and Penny Rose began to float, then fall, terrifyingly, into the darkness. Emotions rushed through her, but still the box hummed to itself, to her, a little tune.
The darkness spread out in front of her, then she saw the rushing ground. She tried to scream, could not, then closed her eyes and in a blinding instant, woke up upon the ground outside the deep forest rim, near the side of a silvery brook. She knew at once she was through the dreams, and the graceful form of Lucif, silent as a ghost, but very real next to her confirmed it.
