The late afternoon sun, a painter with a palette of molten gold and burnt umber, cast long, dancing shadows across Willow Creek Park. Isla, perched on a weathered wooden bench, traced the delicate, skeletal fingers of a willow tree's branches, her charcoal pencil a faithful scribe capturing the scene on textured paper. A gentle breeze, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, rustled through the branches, whispering secrets she couldn't quite decipher. This park held a strange allure for Isla, an inexplicable sense of déjà vu, as if she had walked these winding paths and felt this same crisp air on her skin a thousand times before. She often felt a pull to this place, a sense of belonging that eluded her elsewhere.
Her concentration was broken by a sudden, capricious gust of wind. It snatched her sketches from her grasp, sending them swirling and dancing across the overgrown grass like playful spirits. "Oh, come on," she muttered, a hint of frustration in her voice as she scrambled to retrieve them. The wind, as if mocking her efforts, scattered them further, some drifting close to the creek's edge. As she gathered her scattered artwork, her fingers brushed against something cold and smooth, half-hidden beneath a clump of fallen leaves. She picked it up. It was a small, intricately carved amulet, shaped like a crescent moon, its surface gleaming despite being partially buried. It was made of a dark, almost black metal, and the moon was inlaid with tiny, shimmering stones. It wasn't hers. A shiver, unrelated to the cool autumn air, ran down her spine. The amulet felt.... strangely familiar!!
A faint, almost imperceptible whisper seemed to emanate from it, a whisper that tugged at the edges of her memory.