In my hand is an orb. The orb, about the size of ostrich egg, is glowing with a yellow-orange light. The light is warm, comfortable, like holding the hand of my lover as we walk along the leaf-covered lane. There is a bird, I think it is a raven, perched on my shoulder. He is whispering in my ear, telling me what it sees in the orb. I do not see anything other than the yellow-orange glow. The raven might be lying to me, telling me to do things I do not want to do. The raven starts biting my ear because I am trying to not listen. When I reach up to brush the raven away, I drop the orb. Before I can reach out to grab it, the orb shatters on the obsidian floor, shattering into slivers and leaving a crack in the black floor. The yellow-orange glow slips into the crack and the floor begins to take on the same warm yellow-orange hue. The raven flaps his wings and curses me as it circles around my head. I do not like what he says.