If there are words, they are as yet unknown to me. I have spent hours spinning spells, invoking ghosts long since settled, but those fruits have left my mouth sour, my eyes shining and wild.
Against good sense and sound advice I find a narrow path; I seek a darkened sun. I bear my burdens alone, often in a world with too few dimensions to support life.
I have not known kindness, and I do not speak to trust, not here. Those are words spoken low and whispered in foreign tongues.
It was easier, I moved from consequence, I drew demons in sand and sky and moved on again. If you follow, if all my stories are told; where, then, will I go?
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