She skipped past the camera, her tutu fluttering. But as she moved, the grass she stepped on didn't bend—it turned to crystalline gold. She reached down, picked up the camera, and for a split second before the tape cut to black, her eyes glowed with a terrifying, ancient silver light.
He looked at the bookshelf across the room. There sat the blue ceramic vase his mother had kept for years, the one with the glued-together crack running down the side. He had always been told it was a "clumsy accident."
Suddenly, the camera dropped. It hit the grass with a thud, angled toward the plastic castle. A shadow fell over the frame—not the shadow of a person, but something with vast, tattered wings.