Dear James,

I had a dream. Metal gray halls with pearl archways. Moonlight chandeliers, people dancing. A ball. Holding hands, arms looped through waists. But so little love. Too much formality, almost suffocating. It could have been a festival but people were truly only there for reputation. The only feelings were in the eyes of the young, fearing to turn into the ways of the experienced. Young love, but so different. I think I felt it too.

Muddy gray eyes, hair so black they might be shadows. I don't know what it was, or how. But i think I stopped searching for kindness in people first. Then, I stopped finding for love second. It's like a gift, to see them both in one. It's overwhelming and frightening. The stakes are too high, but there is too much to lose. 

I lived a dream, James. My life seems to be a fictional novel, I'm the protagonist. So much potential. But if I stay dreaming, I may never be able to unfurl my snow streaked wings.

I am a stream, once parted from the river, desperate to meet the ocean. Ever flowing, ever changing. But I am water, and people thirst for me. Even if they prefer the spring wells or the water-pumps. I am a last resort for them. But the fishes live only in me.

I don't think you'll ever need to know this, James, if you are reading this. Or if this isn't James who is.

Eyes like ice, but wings of fire.

Shoot us twice,
and we'll fly higher.

Love,

Cassie

"Oh my go-awhd" The screeching sound of a chair scarping jerked the three out of their stupor while the blonde-haired girl jumped up in realization. "What the bloody hell," the ginger muttered distastefully, "Get it out."

"Something happened to her," her blue-gray eyes flitted about in partially concealed excitement "Or something was about happen, may be she was gonna do something." 

"What do you mean?" the brunette in the room said, while the ginger asked "How do you know?" accusingly. The blonde twisted her finger around the black metal ring she wore in her pinky, carefully explaining "Eyes like ice, but wings of fire. Shoot us twice, but we'll fly higher. It's kind of like a motto, that my mum and her cousins made up." 

She scanned the faces of the other three in the room, trying to find out if they would have any idea what it meant. "She said that they'd say it when something unexpected or revolutionary was about to happen, like a code word. So that the other's would understand, and like... I don't know- wish them luck or something."

One question that reverberated in the room was, what happened, and how was Cassie tied to it?