Harley remained cool and unflinching as the ink on the paper changed color after signing her name, flashing green before returning black. She felt a sudden pang of anxiety, and glanced at Findley, though he seemed to take little notice of it. She quickly averted her eyes, string at the carpet on the floor as she calmed herself down. She had to calm down, she was being paranoid. No one knew anything about her past, so there was no need to worry over anything so small and silly as a change of ink's color. She smoothed her dress as Mister Findley continued speaking, looking up briefly as he exclaimed, apparently having been cut by a piece of glass. 

He then pulled a long, smooth piece of wood, almost like a stick or a wand, inscribed with peculiar runes. She cocked her head to the side, curious why he had brought it out and if he intended to demonstrate anything with it, perhaps wave it like a fairy godmother and cast a spell. However, rather than belt out some silly incantation, he tossed her the stick, prompting her to react and catch it in her hands. As she turned it to get a good look at it, she felt a sudden pull towards it. Her head began to ache with a pulsing pain, a tense ball beginning to form in her brain. She could feel her vision getting blurry, but her body felt numb. The pounding of her own ear drums changed, she could make out words, chantings, drumming. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it would go away, and the drumming stopped. She opened her eyes, finding herself in a completely different location. She was atop a grassy knoll, boulders jutting out and covered in dry moss. The sun was out, clouds high above white, soft, almost fluffy. She could feel the wind, warm, fresh, carrying a smell of smoke.

She turned in the direction the wind came from, a few feet away, a fire burned in a small circle of stones. Not far off, a tent made of animal bone and skin stood, painted with earthen runes and shades. She heard a humming behind her, whipping about and spotting an old man, sitting on one of the boulders. He was dressed in elaborate trappings, fur pelts and skins, moccasins and talismans. His grey hair was long and wild, bound in matted, beaded dreads. His skin seemed painted blue on his face, stripes and swirls like a fierce storm cloud. Her eyes were drawn to his hands, wrinkled, heavy, and scarred, whittling away at a rowan branch. He looked up at her, and she was shocked by his pale eyes, how white they were, like cataracts had consumed them! The surprise of seeing him jolted her out of her reverie with a gasp, as if she had been holding her breath!

She was back in the musty, dim manor, Findley in front of her and the wand clutched tightly in her trembling hands. It seemed not a second had passed since the vision began, and she looked down briefly at the object which had cased it, before flinging it away from her as hard as she could. With the force behind her arm in her panic to remove the stick from her vicinity, she had plunged it midway into the plaster wall, leaving a sizable hole. She stood up and left the room quickly, standing out in the hallway, trying to recollect herself. What was that? That trip into the past?! What had it meant, why had that stick brought it about?! That couldn't have been normal, even by supernatural standards, could it?!