The drizzle still tapped against the glass of the small, shabby apartment window. Rosemary sat on the floor, her back leaning against the mold-stained wall. Her eyes were swollen, her face pale from too much crying. In front of her sat a small wooden box she had always kept safe—the last inheritance from her grandfather.

With trembling hands, she opened the box. Inside lay an old sketch, a rusty pair of scissors, and a sheet of paper filled with her grandfather’s handwriting. Rosemary stared at it, tears welling again as she read the familiar words.

“Rose, never give up. You have a gift beyond measure. Remember, the world may try...