The Hope in Our Scars

"Rachel Dare, you're the oracle?" I asked, dumbfounded. Rachel shrugged as if it were a no casual brainer.
"Yup, me, Oracle of Delphi," said Rachel.
"But I thought Percy said the Oracle was some shruken female mummy in the upstairs attic of the Big House," I protested.
Rachel wrinkled her nose. "Well excuse me. I'm no shrunk hag that lives in anyone's attic. I'm just well-me."
I decided not to reply to that. "So is it true that you have prophecy spasms?" I asked carefully.
"True that," Rachel replied, sitting on an old dusty couch. "Sorry, they can't be controlled. No way I would want to get you lot into unwanted trouble for no good reason."
"I understand," I said, "so what was it that you wanted me for?"
"Oh yes, sorry I forgot," Rachel said, getting up. "The prophecy, the prophecy. Wait a sec, Lilac."
I stared in utter silence, as Rachel sat on the couch once more, and closed her eyes. It looked as if she were trying to channel power from a source in her mind. After a good two minutes or so, I was afraid that she had fallen asleep.
I got up, and began to walk to the door. When my hand grazed the knob, I felt a cool hand tap me on my bare shoulder.
I jumped back, my breath going a mile a minute. It was Rachel, her eyes shining gold, and her mouth open as if it were shaped like a permanent O.
"Love will be your ultimate sacrifice. I see fire, conflict, war among the bretheren of fire and the maidens of peace. And only the girl on the dove can free thee. Or, all shall be lost to rain."
As she spoke the last words, Rachel's shoulder loosened and she slumped, as I caught her before she collapsed.
"What was that?" I told myself, as I setted Rachel onto the couch and definitely thought:
One prophecy were too much problems in one day.

Notes

New Prophecy, conflict arises
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