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The Disappearance of of Becky Blake [2]

“Hey, Rick!” A shimmer in the woods caught Becky’s attention, and she stopped walking so she could get a better look. The flickers of translucence were sometimes white, then blue, then maybe orange… and they just hung in the air, only a few yards into the treeline.
When she looked away, Becky noticed that Rick was still walking away, like she hadn’t said anything at all. “Stop, Rick…” his gait shifted, then he paused. She was too excited to stay annoyed at his petty antics. “Come here and see this!” Whatever it was, he’d think it was just as neat as she did.
Then a slender, dark skinned armed draped in a light silken cloth of deep crimson with brilliant saffron designs sprawled over it appeared to reach through the shimmering light. With it floated whispered words, like dry leaves crunching underfoot in the fall. “Daughter… of Sarah… save us… take our hand… come to us…”
Becky didn’t really consider the implications or possible consequences. She stepped over the railing between her and the brush line, and reached out to grab the genteel hand waiting for her. The world around suddenly washed out in a crescendo of harsh light. She blinked and tried to rub her eyes back into focus. It took longer than she wanted, but eventually she was able to make out the details of her surroundings.
Looking around, she saw that everything was different. She stood on a rolling hillside, and she was surrounded by deciduous trees in the fiery regalia of high fall. In front of Becky stood a slender young woman draped in a billowy but revealing garment… “dress” was an insufficient word to describe it. The fabric was a gossamer that seemed to flicker with dozens of tiny fires in he gentle breeze and sunlight, and the deep reds and yellows seemed to dance around her body in a jubilant waltz.
Looking up, Becky confirmed that the sun was, in fact, in the sky. She looked down at her watch, but the clock face said it was still ten at night. “What the hell is going on!” she exclaimed aloud. The strange woman must have thought she was being asked the question, because she held up her hands, palms out.
She spoke with a voice befitting her overwhelming beauty, slightly hushed and amiable if not outright warm. “Do not fear, child. I am the Fómharsidhe, and you are in my realm of Autumn.”

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