[ WP ] A group of people worship a small , plain , clear glass marble . You touch it , and realise why .

Hilary Flint recoiled in disgust, wind cracked lips snarling. 
 
 `` You fucking morons... This is a soul stone.'' 
 
 Faith's eyes went wide with alarm. The search for true immortality had long been the quest of many an alchemist or mage, the ability to trump death even beyond a Fae's lengthy lifespans a treasure beyond price. Humans had a similar vision in their Philosopher's Stone, but unlike the maddened dreams of the young race, the Fae actually succeeded in theirs. 
 
 `` Who does it belong to?'' she asked tenatively. Flint spat, as if he'd tasted something bitter. 
 
 `` No one good, that's for certain. All I felt was oblivion, a great empty nothingness that seemed to strangle all thoughts of hope. *Something* was in there. Dark, and terrible. I'd say we should destroy it but I'd fear the consequences.'' 
 
 `` We should take it to my grandfather,'' Faith suggested. `` He'd know what to do.'' 
 
 `` And what, bring it into the nest of vipers you call a court? Your grandfather might be a good Fae, but your cousins and uncles, they'd leap for a chance at an artifact of this power. We should sail into the middle of Lake Michigan and toss it over the side where it'll be lost for good.'' 
 
 Slowly, as if weighing his words, Faith nodded. `` You're right. No one who's ever been sealed into a soul stone has ever been the type you would wish to be released. I'll see to the preparations and the task of finding a boat. Please, Flint, keep it safe.'' 
 
 With that she left the room, leaving the veteran ranger alone to his thoughts. He forgot to mention that the stone had spoke to him, its voice dripping with venom and cold, cruel hatred. 
 
 ***Come and See... ***
