This was written for the Pomegranate Prophecies, found here.
“Pomegranate Prophecy,” she said aloud in a soft voice as she picked up the hardcover book from the library book shelf. She brushed back her blonde hair hastily, initially interested in its deep reddish purple cover. She lightly caressed the cover art, tracing the pomegranate seeds and peering closely at the lightly written symbols, wondering what they were. She lifted her green eyes in thought, then flipped the book over. She slowly flipped through the pages, feeling the familiar stirrings that meant she had to read this one. Sometimes she felt like being a bibliophile was a disease; an escape from the life of a painfully shy wallflower into the adventures of others who weren’t. At least she managed to live life vicariously.
She walked up to the counter and clunked down her large armful of books, along with her library card. “Hey Rain,” the librarian said. Rain nodded at her, and busily shook her bangles back down her arm, the tinny tinkle making her smile like it always did. As she waited for the woman to scan and stamp her books, she impatiently straightened out her gypsy skirt, the brightly colored fabric swirling around her feet. She was surprised when the librarian handed her back the pomegranate book, shaking her head and adding “This one’s not ours, hon.” Rain took the book back, and wondered, then threw it into her book bag with the others.
The book sat on her desk -with all of the other books waiting to be read- for a week. Every night she dreamed of a cheeky blonde, with a handful of five pomegranate seeds in one hand, and a golden apple in the other. “Rain,” the beautiful woman would say, “you are the one; one of my children. Eat the seeds, taste the fruit of my forbidden golden apple, and discover who you truly are.” Some mornings she would remember the thrill of the sound of her name rolling off of those perfect lips, while other mornings she would only remember the seeds, or the apple itself.
Finally she had a free day. The slow drip of the warm summer rain on the tin roof was the perfect sound for reading to, and she picked through the books waiting to be read aimlessly, finally settling on “The Pomegranate Prophecy,” beckoned by the seeds she remembered so well from her dreams. Curling up in the window seat, she looked out at the city life below, and then began to read.
As dark began to fall, she closed the cover of the book, her mind swirling with all of the things she had read and learned. “Eris…” she softly whispered, finally having a name for the cheeky blonde who had been haunting her dreams. She looked around, surprised it was dark already. She had lost track of time.
Smiling, Rain gathered a few things together, and then opened the book back up, searching for a particular passage. Unhesitatingly she began the self-initiation ritual, putting her own spin on it to match what she had on hand to work with. She danced until she could dance no more, passing out on her bed, and dreamed once more of Eris. “Welcome,” she was told as she received the pomegranate seeds. “Welcome to an existence that is both heaven and hell. Free yourself form the lies and chains. You have begun on your journey…”