My aunt once told me about an old legend about the woods in Sleepy Hollow, Hampshire. If you go there at midnight, you might be lucky to get a glimpse of your future. I thought it was nonsense, but would try anything once.
It was beautiful there. Fingers of moonlight danced between the trees, lighting the path before me, so far no strange manifestations, no flickering phantoms.
The deathly silence gave me a chill. Aunt and her strange stories, I told myself. Then I noticed a light shimmering to my left. You could be forgiven for thinking someone had dropped a handful of sequins. Thing is, they hadn’t reached the ground. They danced between the trees, heading for the cliff edge where I didn’t like to go, not being good with heights. I had no choice; I had to follow the faint flickering as best I could. I knew it was leading me.
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