There were four.
Strangers to this land, their nervous presence was noticed by many, though acknowledged by few. But wherever they went, the whisperings followed close behind. "Did you see?" they said. "Did you see her?"
For somehow, one among the strangers seemed to stand out. She was soft-spoken, almost self-effacing, but somehow she was remembered above all the others. Her soft violet hair framed, almost masked, a delicate face; a face that seemed strangely familiar to all who saw her.
"Do I know this one from somewhere?" the whisperings ran. "Is it possible?"
And wherever she went, the tiniest amount of hope followed, sustained by the whisperings that refused to die away. "Is she?" they said, and each one who heard allowed themselves the momentary luxury of this impossible dream. "Is she the one?"