"Here, from your grandmother. It's a gift," Erin said quietly.
The obsidian charm in her palm glimmered with faint, liquid light—soft, slow, like a heartbeat beneath glass. The lines that coiled around its surface weren't decorative; they shifted subtly, flowing like ink with each breath, rearranging themselves in ways that made even Vivienne blink twice before realizing what she was seeing.
Vivienne's breath caught the moment she recognized the shifting sigils.
"Mother…"
Her voice trembled—not in fear, but in disbelief. She leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the charm as if seeing something both familiar and impossible.
"That's… not just a charm, is it?"
Erin didn't answer at once. She turned the obsidian pendant over in her palm, and the runes rippled like reflections in oil. The light in the room dimmed as though the charm itself were drinking it in, swallowing radiance and giving nothing back.
