Aveline stood at the edge of the forest, her palms tingling.
It had started three months ago—subtle at first. A warmth in her hands whenever she comforted someone. A flicker of light when she placed her fingertips on a withered leaf. She thought it was coincidence. But the feeling grew stronger, and with it, an undeniable knowing stirred deep inside her.
The villagers thought she was a little strange, especially after her grandmother passed. The old woman had been known as the town “Herbal Mystic,” always murmuring over cups of lavender tea and speaking of energy, chakras, and healing from the heart. Aveline used to roll her eyes at it all. That was before the accident.
The boy’s name was Elias. Nine years old, pale, barely breathing when his mother brought him to Aveline’s cottage in desperation. She didn’t know what made her do it. Her hands moved on their own, hovering over his chest. She whispered a silent intention—Help him. Let him stay.
And then, the warmth poured out of her palms like sunlight.
Elias woke up the next morning with color in his cheeks and clarity in his eyes. The doctor was baffled. The mother wept. And Aveline knew: her grandmother had left her more than a cottage and dried herbs. She had passed on a gift.
By the lake that morning, Aveline sat cross-legged, breathing deeply. The energy flowed gently through her. It entered from above—her crown chakra—like golden mist descending from the sky, spiraling down through her body. It settled at her heart, then traveled outward, down her arms, into her hands.
Her fingers buzzed. It was like the energy knew where to go. She had never studied it formally, but somehow, her body remembered.
A rustle broke her focus. An animal limped from the underbrush—a fox with a bloodied paw.
Aveline exhaled softly. “You again.”
She had seen this fox before. It always watched her, like a quiet guardian or a curious guide. Now, it had come for something more. She extended her hand.
“Only if you’re ready.”
The fox stepped closer. Aveline rested her hands gently above the wound, closing her eyes. She channeled the energy, not her own, but something higher—limitless, soft, intelligent. She let go of control. Her mind stilled. The energy did the work.
Minutes passed. When she opened her eyes, the fox was gone. No sign of blood. Only fresh paw prints in the damp soil.
Later that week, a stranger came to the cottage. His name was Kael, a traveler from the southern lands. Tall, quiet, eyes like storm clouds. He said he was looking for someone “awakened.” He had heard whispers of her healing touch.
“You’ve been initiated,” he said, after watching her hands light with gentle fire as she soothed an old woman’s swollen knee.
Aveline shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”
“Then your soul chose early.”
Kael explained things she didn’t fully understand—higher dimensions, energy pathways, how the higher-self sometimes triggers the flow on its own. She listened, fascinated. He offered to teach her more, to formally attune her, to help her refine her gift.
“But you already know what matters,” he said. “You don’t give energy. You simply let it move through you.”
That night, Aveline dreamed of her grandmother. She stood in the same clearing by the lake, surrounded by white light.
“You were born for this,” the old woman said. “You just had to remember.”
Aveline became known across the region not as a healer, but as a channel—someone through whom miracles passed like wind through the trees. She never asked for payment. She only asked people to rest, breathe, and allow.
And each time she placed her hands over a wound, a scar, or a tired heart, she whispered the same thing:
“I am not the source. Only the vessel. Let the light come through.”
And it always did.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and light,
Brenda Marie
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