There are a lot of tales of old Ireland. Tales of what came before, of castles and treasures and what was once considered the magic of Ireland.
One of these tales in particular is about a Princess. She was the light of Ireland, her name reflected that. She was called Sorcha of the clan O'Reilly.
Now, the thing about Irish women is that they have a sixth sense. A unique bond with those they hold dear, like a web of silver threads spreading from their hearts to the hearts of those they're truly close to, binding them together.
Men can have a version of the Irish sense too, mind you it's usually a little bit off kilter and often not as strong, a side effect of being the male twin in a pair.
This sense is the magic of Ireland. And Sorcha's was strong. One of the strongest in the land...
"Don't be wanderin' too far, darlin'" Sorcha heard the familiar voice of her favorite lady in waiting call out, her Auburn curls whipping across her face when she spun around.
"I won't go far, mam. Just to the cottage at the edge of the woods is all," Sorcha called back to her, bright green eyes full of mischief.
"I'll believe that when the farmer's cattle sprout wings and fly south for the colder months, ya trouble maker," The lady pushed a couple of curls back into the band that was supposed to hold them back as she watched Sorcha trot off into the woods, her staff strapped at her back and wild red curls flying in the breeze, "Be back fer dinner so I'm not explainin' to the queen again that her little princess has gone runnin' amok! And don't ya be goin' anywhere near tha Sorceress's cottage either!"
"Relax, Aislynn," Sorcha's answer came as an echo, a soft pulse of affection from the girl accompanying it and pulling a some from Aislynn.
Sorcha ducked past a few branches, words she knew better than to say escaping when her hair caught on one of them.
Several minutes later, she stepped into the clearing at the edge of the trees, staring at the cottage ahead of her. One hand reached back to loosen the staff from it's strap while the other adjusted the slightly crooked circlet she wore atop her unruly curls.
After a moment, Sorcha stepped over to knock at the door, waiting for the woman inside to shuffle toward the door and open it.
"Princess. I felt your power…you are strong. So strong," The old Sorceress's voice was quiet as she greeted Sorcha, "Come inside, I have much to show you…"
