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The Lightning Tree — Jeanne Crecy
The Lighted Lamp
Stephanie Randall gazed in silence at the thickly overgrown tangle of weeds that was Winter Garden. Musty, barren, and isolated, it was all the home she had, the desolate refuge of her ageless, fading aunts; the shriveled Thespia, a nut-brown gnome with the quick, bright stare of a greedy squirrel; the rigid, spiteful Athalie, her hair a gun-metal grey; the frail and wispy Lucinda, eyes violet and remote.
The three were suspended in time, guarding the secret of the flickering lights that rekindled the tragedy of the hidden cove, and threatened Stephanie's very existence.
Stephanie Randall gazed in silence at the thickly overgrown tangle of weeds that was Winter Garden. Musty, barren, and isolated, it was all the home she had, the desolate refuge of her ageless, fading aunts; the shriveled Thespia, a nut-brown gnome with the quick, bright stare of a greedy squirrel; the rigid, spiteful Athalie, her hair a gun-metal grey; the frail and wispy Lucinda, eyes violet and remote.
The three were suspended in time, guarding the secret of the flickering lights that rekindled the tragedy of the hidden cove, and threatened Stephanie's very existence.
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