The Light was. In being was perfection, and perfect being. Eternity was, 
and all things swelled into the moment the Light filled. But the Light saw 
of the Dark that was beyond it, outside of its perfect now, and was 
tempted by the fraying colors at its edges sparkling an infinity of 
possibilities. For where the Light met the Dark, unity became a multitude 
of beautiful moments that cried out their singular existence before being 
consumed by the Dark's endless sea. Entranced, the Light could not look 
away, for the beauty of newness held it fast. There, on the threshold 
between its own unity and the dissolution of chaos lay a world it longed 
to experience. And so the Light looked closer, and a piece of itself pried 
at the edges between worlds, seeking the crack through which it might slip 
into a more limited existence.

And the Dark waited, for all things came to it in time.

*******

The shepherd looked up as the light filled the sky, and was struck blind. 
In a moment he understood the meaning of all things and his small place 
within them. His crook fell to the ground, his flock scattered in terror, 
his knees bloodied on the rocky soil. The last thing his eyes would ever 
see was the vision of radiance that fused his sockets dry. That light 
would comfort him in the darkness that filled the remainder of his days, 
as his family and townspeople cared for a shepherd who could no longer 
work. Sometimes he would tell scattered tales of the wisdom that filled 
him for a moment before slipping from his fingers like the crook he once 
held proudly, and the people would listen close for their hearts knew the 
sound of truth. But none knew the ways of writing, and his words changed 
in passing from tale to tale until their power was lost, stolen by 
colorful heroes and great deeds no man had ever accomplished.

The Light withdrew, for it saw that it was too strong. It would allow 
itself to diminish, and approach again.

*******

The mad old tell the curious young of the Lady of the Wood, how she can be 
seen by the moons light to lonely travelers lost in the wilds of Oak and 
Thorn beyond where the hunters go. Her children dance in mushroom rings, 
or bob just out of reach leading wandering seekers over roots that grasp 
ankles and ditches filled with doom. They tell of young men, lured by her 
promise and song, who enter the wood and never return. They tell also of 
those who do, aged beyond mortal years in a fortnight's bliss. They say 
mad old Tom is but of a child's years, one of those to return. But mad old 
Tom says nothing, staring off into the distance seeking something he lost.

Years pass, children become adults, and stories are forgotten. Woods are 
felled to house the growing camps of Man, mushroom rings paved beneath 
roads of stone. No one comes to visit the Lady, and seldom does the mist 
gather in the moonlight in just the way where she can appear. And so the 
Light must retreat again as the last of her beloved Ash crackle in the 
hearth, seeking again the way to reach the lives she so longs to touch.

*******

An artist mourns his lover, taken from him in a causeless accident of fate 
that leaves him with but a slab of granite to imagine by what might have 
been. She was his muse, his dreams. He is broken without her, useless. His 
talent slips to the bottom of a bottle. But in his dreams, he sees her 
still. She is different now, transformed, but he knows her. His muse, she 
calls to him, and his love ignites anew.

He will build a new temple for her to inhabit. Her body sculpted from the 
finest porcelain clay, her hair spun threads of gold, her eyes the jewels 
he gazes into in his dreams. His fortune he will spend, needing nothing 
else, but it will not be enough to make her whole. So, he will craft her 
as a child, for lack of material to build the body of a woman. The furnace 
of his passion will fire her firm, but he knows it will not be enough. His 
love is such that for her he will give anything, and loving him too she 
shows the way. He has nothing left to give but one thing. The red glaze 
covers her, brings warmth to her flesh, spilling around them in a circle 
of intent. The last light to enter his eyes reflects the wet sparkle in 
hers as she holds her fading lover. He is completed, but now she has lost. 
Tears wash the light from her eyes.


She does not know how long she wandered. She can not answer of where she 
came. This world confuses her, steals the memories of why she is. They 
take her in and feed her mud that once reached towards the light and took 
form. Her body obeys, forgetting the source it once knew, and learns to 
hunger. They clothe her and name her, and wonder how she survived without 
them. She learns their short and grunting words which divide her mind from 
the all-knowing. Sometimes she dreams of blood and the empty eyes of a 
father, but the pain blinds and vision passes to bliss. One day, it was as 
never was, and she begins to play. They no longer ask the brilliant girl 
of her secrets, least the answers steal the wonder that is joy to behold.


A girl becomes a woman as toil steals in place of play, wonder to 
observation. Struggle fills her life, for nothing comes easy in such a 
place as this. Long days of training lead to long days of working. She 
wonders if this is all life can be. The moments of happiness she sees 
between endless tasking are brief but enough to keep the ember of hope 
alive, but still she struggles to breathe beneath the burden of being.

When she meets him, it is a savior she sees. His sweet words fill her with 
passion. His touch makes music of her flesh. She escapes in him, holding 
the bliss tight least the world take it from her. She is reminded of 
something she can not quite place in those glad moments together, where 
two become one beyond their sum combined.

When the life grows within her, she is certain that her purpose is 
fulfilled. Nothing matters but what will come, and she grows bright again 
as her body swells. Its time comes, and the pain of separation is almost 
more than she can bear. Between the spasms of her body, she sees a 
familiar glow in the dark beneath her mind. Reaching for it, it slips from 
her with the child's first breath.




Never did she speak. Never has she eaten save from her mother's breast. 
Not once has a tear touched her eye, even at birth when the first taste of 
pain initiates the new soul to this world with a slaping blow. Yet at not 
even 3 summers does she gaze with a knowing that disturbs the gray 
creatures around her who wonder why she does not play like the other 
children, and moves with a grace beyond what her small body should have 
known. Her mother keeps her close, won't let the others touch her. In her 
eyes is reflected something she once knew, but now can only long for 
without even understanding why.

He does not understand. He does not listen. He can not see it. He leaves, 
and soon they will come to take her, too. Mother stares to daughter, 
knowing they can not be parted. The daughter's eyes at last release their 
secrets as understanding pierces the gray wall of words within the 
mother's mind that keep her safe from the truth. The small hand offers the 
blade to the larger.

When they come, only a bloodstained doll greets them with dull stone eyes.

The Light still looks to the Dark, searching. The Dark only waits.