Epilogue
They say the MacDuff box still waits in the Highlands for its next keeper.
Centuries have passed since its magical carvings and the seer’s incantations took root in the wood.
There's no limit on how many keepers can take possession.
And once a bond has been formed, the box is relinquished, waiting patiently to bring together the next deserving match.
To find the box, a lonely would-be keeper, simply needs to walk along the moors, and listen to the wind as it whistles through the grass, carrying whispers of ancient secrets. Can you hear it? Can you make out the sound of an ancient heartbeat?
At the edge of the glen is a magical-looking cottage. Its stone facade covered in ivy and moss. At twilight, the cottage shimmers, as if in this place, it houses the barrier for time itself.
Rumor has it that once a year, a man and woman rent the cottage for a month but stay hidden from anyone in the nearby village. On clear spring evenings, smoke curls from the cottage chimney, fragrant with peat and rosemary, and a little something more. A little something like magic.
And sometimes, in the hush before dawn, you can see two figures walking along the craggy hills.
A couple, hand in hand. She wears jeans, and he wears a kilt.
Their laughter carries on the wind, a tinkling of bells.
A few have claimed the couple waved, beckoning them to come.
But all who have tried can ever follow them far.
They weave through the mist, their footsteps erased on the path after each step.
By the time the first light spills over the ancient glen, there’s only the sound of the birds and the scent of peat smoke fading in the air. The mysterious lovers have vanished.
If you’re brave enough to strap on your snowshoes in winter and hike the Highlands, and you’re still enough to listen, you’ll hear the distant thrum of magic, luring you toward it’s carefully guarded secrets. Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. Like two heartbeats beating in tandem.
Some call the magical box a legend, a fairy tale, story for fools. But if that’s true, why do people still leave offerings at the edge of the glen, bits of ribbon, locks of hair, a whispered wish.
If you listen closely, you might hear the seer’s voice, old as the hills themselves, as she speaks a prophecy: Guard the heart within, until the heart without is ready.
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Thank you for reading HIGHLAND JEWEL!