The click, click, click of her shoes on the wood floor broke the stark stillness in the house.

          She comes.

          Outside, the summer sunset—vivid coral pinks layered with swirls of cerulean blue—gave way to descending darkness as she entered the studio. A slice of the waning sun shot across her face as she crossed to the grand piano, its enormous lid raised. She stopped and lit a single candle on the table to her right. The flame flickered, then steadied. The sun disappeared.

         The Others—souls who move through interspatial boundaries between dimensions difficult for The Physicals to perceive—assembled and signaled The Gathering, overseers of the timeline. The Gathering replied as one.

         We are ready.

         A breeze whirled through the open window, ruffling the curtains as if pushing them aside, announcing His presence.

          I am here. It is time to open the door.

         The woman was unaware she was being guided. As a musician, she responded to a familiar, instinctive need to collaborate with her instrument, to place her hands on the keys and make them speak. It was an obsession that had to be fed. A passion to be quenched. What drove this need lay in her DNA. It was who she was—or so she thought. Yet this seemingly ordinary desire to play would mark a turning point in her life, her opportunity to pivot. This day would be different, as would all her days following.

© 2026, Sherry A King. All rights reserved