Having run, Ven finds herself in danger-
Caught and held in the grip of a stranger,
Who retains long sought answers within her.
What do secrets cost, what is their nature?
Freed of hands, bound by curiosity,
Ven crouches, awaiting veracity.
From this ag-ed, bent and gnarled figure.
This small, seemingly frail, warted creature.
“Who is it you claim to be-” Ven starts,
At the crack of a smack, her cheek smarts.
“You’d be wise to hold thy tongue,” the crone growls,
“For flapping lips do quickly run afoul.”
“Your story, my child, began long ago.
When stars ran aground and their magic flowed.
In my veins runs the gift of prophecy,
And ages past your name came unto me.
“With mine own eyes I beheld your squalling.
Glimpsed your future darkly with my calling.
To your parents I went, ‘fore them I told –
She must be named and marked as I was bode!”
Ven’s tale winds on with a magical bend.