The Tale Of Ruby Ziegler

It was just before midnight on Elmwood Street in Melbourne, Australia. The storm had arrived abruptly, its intensity overwhelming the neighborhood. The wind howled and twisted the trees, rain pounding down so fiercely that it turned the streetlights into blurred halos of light. Thunder crashed with such force that it felt like the heavens were shattering, yet amidst the chaos, there was an eerie quiet—a sense that something beyond the storm was at play.

The frogs were the only creatures daring to break the silence. Their croaks rose in a rhythmic chant, filling the night with an anxious urgency, as though they sensed something significant approaching. They seemed to know that this night was different.

At the end of the street stood a modest house, its simplicity belying the turmoil outside. The house was well-kept and unremarkable, its lights off as the storm raged. Without warning, the front door creaked open.

Two figures emerged into the storm. They moved with purpose, their steps measured and calm despite the weather's fury. The man was tall and slender, wearing a long coat that flapped in the wind. His face was mostly hidden under the brim of a weathered hat. The woman beside him wore a long, dark coat, and her movements were steady and graceful. Both appeared unaffected by the storm's rage.

Without a glance back, they crossed the yard and approached a dense wall of brambles. Most would have hesitated before such an obstacle, but the couple walked straight toward it. As they did, the thorns seemed to part for them, granting passage into the thick greenery.

On the other side, they entered a realm that defied ordinary understanding. The storm's noise faded, replaced by a heavy, almost tangible silence. The ground was a fine, black sand that absorbed light, and overhead, the sky was no longer the sky but a ceiling of fractured glass. Through this glass ceiling, swirling clouds twisted in impossible shapes, casting an otherworldly glow over the scene.

In the center of this extraordinary world stood two grand coffins, carved from black marble with intricate, shifting designs. The names Elizabeth Ziegler and Zynn Ziegler were engraved on the lids, faintly glowing as though written in ethereal light.

The couple's focus, however, was not on the coffins. Instead, their attention was drawn to a small girl between them. There lay a baby, wrapped in a deep crimson velvet blanket. Her tiny face was serene, her dark curls forming a delicate halo.

The woman knelt beside the pedestal, her expression softening with a mixture of awe and care. She brushed her fingers gently across the baby's cheek. "Ruby," she whispered warmly. "Welcome home."

The man reached down, lifting the baby into his arms with a tenderness that belied the storm's chaos. "You're safe now," he murmured, cradling her carefully. "We've been waiting for you."

They exchanged a glance that spoke of unspoken secrets and profound importance. Ruby was no ordinary child; her presence was significant, holding the promise of great things to come.

With Ruby safely in their arms, the couple turned and retraced their steps to the brambles. As they approached, the thorns parted once more, allowing their passage back. Emerging onto Elmwood Street, they were greeted by the storm's full force. Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating their figures, and in that fleeting moment, their faces seemed different—more vibrant and alive, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

As they returned to the house, the door opened smoothly, welcoming them back inside. The moment they stepped over the threshold, the storm outside seemed to diminish, as if the world understood that whatever had entered was not to be disturbed.

Inside, the baby stirred for the first time. Her eyes opened, a deep brown that shone brightly in the dim room. She looked up at the couple, and for a brief moment, she smiled—a smile that held a depth beyond her years.