At Seven- Know your death

She knew things. Impossible things. Things so available to all you'd think everyone would live in dread. Sara was not a profit; she simply knew how to read what was written into the world. Perhaps it was only her who could see it all, who could question existence and find the answer spelled out in leaves, or suddenly understand the gentle whispers of a great willow.

The ironic constant among all the free knowledge was to not question it. The more Sara felt like the secrets were more like hunches the more the world seemed to draw back a little more, hide from her. There was no trying to change what was set in stone, no reveling in information, hungry for more.