Kindred: Ch. 1 - Bad Start

I followed her everywhere, her fury, her joy, her love, and her suffering.

There was none who knew her better, none who listens as I do.

But she never glances my way.

Couldn't.

Snippets and Stories: (R) The Perfect Mistake

You seem like you're going through hard Times, so I'll tell you a story.

Do you know what it's like to be the only one who believes you can do it?

I know no one else believes in me.

There are so many who tell me to give up, that I'll just fail. And the others who don't? Who tell me they believe in me?

I ask them, "Would you bet $100 on my success?"

And they answer as is expected of social obligation, "Yes."

To which I answer, "Then will you bet those hundred dollars now? It will help me pay for school, that I may take my classes and continue on this path."

I have yet to receive even one.

There are many people who are all talk in this world. And I've no interest in false words.

But I try anyways, I'll try, try, and try again.

I'm not afraid to make mistakes, because everything I do, is a mistake. You get used to it.

But just remember.

It's okay to make mistakes, it's okay to be wrong.

It's okay, just pick yourself up, and keep trying.

Because someday, you'll get it right. Someday you'll make the perfect mistake.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Mistaken

Yet another blunder. He sneered at the charcoal smudged image. Give up while you're ahead why don't you? Wasting such fine materials to create utter garbage.

There was no denying the pathetic attempt as anything more than a waste of precious materials and Time. It was a mess, smudgy, odd shadows, misshapen forms.

Hideous​, ugly, disappointing, frustrating. All of them and more.

All there was to show for my efforts was a worn out hand coated thickly with charcoal.

I let that fall to my side as I took it in. Still, it was a first step. These speed runs that our professor had us making were pitiful at best.

The only thing that could be done was to learn and get better.

But I was never able to deceive myself, and perhaps it is because of that, that I so suffered.

Talent was something that others had. Certainly, it takes dedication, practice, and whatnot, to hone one's skill, but I knew I was no competition even then. I never was.

Inside something believed in the potential, but there was something else. Oppressive as it was, or perhaps it was just life's toll.

They learned it quickly, they learned it well.

Artistic talent was something that I worked for, but never had. All of my skill, I obtained through practice, and it lacked the creative expression and character that so many others had.

Not long has my presence been, but it would be insult to say that I couldn't recognize talent when I saw it, and I saw none in mine self.

Sure, one could practice, but not everyone succeeds.

That's just the way of life. Not every comic makes the frontlines, not everyone can be amazing.

"I'm not afraid to make mistakes, because everything I do, is a mistake."

He stops whatever nonsense he is doing. Perhaps surprised by my candor.

"If I'm just going to mess up, then at least I tried."

Ah, but inside, you wonder why you tried at all.

Indeed.

"I will manage, just as I've always had."

So full of hope, and so full of emptiness.

"Has it ever been any different?"

The silence I take for an answer, and when I had thought to myself that he had gone, he replied.

Once.

I didn't ask for when that "once" was, for I needed not to hear what I already knew. Just as I didn't need to hear the plastic dollar-store encouragements that were oft passed out.

Few cared to know enough to be genuine in their words, and I cared less for those who were of falsities.

But are you not the same? You attempt to be what you are not. You have not even the abilities to achieve what is obtained through practice, not talent.

"No Neskyii, I am not. Because I believed, and still believe, that I can. I am not just doing the motions to do them."

A brave face, and a weak Heart. You are ill-suited for this path. A path you will only fail.

"Probably."

People stare as I pass and a snide voice wants to ask, "What are you staring at?"

But another voice, snider still says, "I don't care enough about them to want to know."

Was it my clothes? I had little fashion sense. Maybe the ribbon headband was too much at my age.

Or maybe it was the enormous drawing pad in one hand, duffel bag in the other, and overweight backpack.

Maybe there was something on my face.

Who knows. I didn't.

Kindred: Prologue

Though known to few, there is magic in sentience, in thought. And it is through this mystical force, that words are imbued with power.

The sorcerers did not simply speak of words, they understood them, what they meant, to themselves, to others, their sound, their consequence, their weight.

The weight they carried that lay beyond mere utterance. But beyond thought too, was the pure, unrefined, raw emotion like untouched ore. With this did they lay waste.

With but their cadence, a mere inflection of the voice, so carefully spoken, was the power to create and destroy at their hands.

But such forces have dwindled now.

One may or may not ask why.

Only History knows true, for it lay in the sands of Time long past.

Or perhaps it was the overwhelming suffocation of a new, more powerful faith, called Science.

Who ruled with a mighty iron fist known as reason.

But that is mere speculation.

Unbeknownst to the modernized world, however, are the residual hopes and dreams that gather. Moments unrestrained that like flint, sparks!

And momentarily, however brief, those who bore witness are entranced by the dazzling motes that dance in a mere speck of Time, and are lost.

Sometimes the sparks catch tinder and kindle an ember.

Such are the peculiar oddities.

But that emotions so pure and strong must be to birth such, meant that in the wake of rising humanity, the ravages of war and discontent, that little else but grudges born.

Dark things, pitiable in that they knew naught else, save  for the unbridled, vengeful, bitterness. Manifestation after all, are only comprised of what is given, and grudges are given little else to subsist on.

But that is a tangent, a story for another day.

That which had taken precedence this day, was but a humble, trusty, steed.

Borne of the collective consciousness accumulated over the course of several years, did I take shape.

She had called to me first, as Sark.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Successor (4 of 4)

Successor (4 of 4)

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

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When all was said and done, it was as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from her. And indeed, it had quite literally, been lifted from her.

The floors of the bathroom were vividly red, a stark contrast against the sterile white tiles.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Successor (3 of 4)

Successor (3 of 4)

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 4

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This was insane was what it was. Pure folly, yet here she was with his hair grown out again and walking down the same street late at night, a shoulder bag slung across her chest.

This Time though, it was her who was doing the hunting.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Successor (2 of 4)

Successor (2 of 4)

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Part 1
Part 3
Part 4

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The debt was piling up.

She had to find a job and soon.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Successor (1 of 4)

Successor (1 of 4)

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Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

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She was the successor of the Canterbury line.

When her brother fell into a deep sleep that few would ever wake from, the responsibilities fell to her, and she toiled to uphold the expectations, but always holding on to the sliver of hope that her only Family would open his eyes once more.

But the years came and went, and when they threatened to pull the plug she had taken matters into her own hands.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Orientation

Esti stared, dumbfounded.

In kinder words, he had never seen so flawless a mask. In his own, Silas was a two-faced snake if he ever saw one.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Burgeon

It was a mere projection, nothing more.

What he desired, what is forever beyond reach.

Neiro took in the lush splendor, in the middle of which stood the Apex of the Academy.

Silas indulged himself a bit too much in the nonexistent world between, and it worried him. Though given the Invalid's physical state it wasn't difficult to empathize. Shaking his head he hoped that despite it all, Silas remained grounded to the reality.

But it was quite a sight to take in.

The scintillating light, and biting, almost harsh chill of the wind, amidst the dense greens.

In the middle Silas stood,  face tilted towards the surreal sunbeams filtering down, serene.

The plants coiled around him, growing at whim.

It was with a growing weight that Neiro took it in.

For it was what would not come to pass.

Silas desired tranquility. To live his remaining days in the peace and quiet of his home without the intrusion and irritation of society.

The other may not have voiced such thoughts, but his retreats said it all. The koi pond, the quiet serenity and utter calm of his projections.

The man wished for peace and quiet.

Neiro's admiration went beyond that though. To have been able to create such large scale projections even through an astral pod was something of great latent power and determination.

Few could conjure up more than their bare conscience, and here Silas was raising towering forests of ancient old-growth trees, and yet the Invalid did not fail to overlook the delicate curls of fern and dainty blossoms.

There were few things Silas could do outside of the projections of the Astral Pods, and even existing, keeping the fire burning, had become a trying task as of late.

Neiro stepped lightly into the clearing, the crackling of leaf litter underfoot announcing his presence.

Briefly he marveled at the meticulous detail of it all, and the odd transition from carpet to cool green blades underfoot, the occasionally daisy poking out of a clover patch.

Silas didn't turn, but he did move to sit. And gingerly, Neiro lowered himself to sit back to back with the Invalid.

"You're warm."

A smile flitted across his face, "I would hope so."

There was no playful banter. Just the distant song of feathered beasts, and rustling of the high wind through the overhead leaves.

In the pause he nearly drifted off, but a voice pulled him out of the comfortable grasp of sleep, 

"You're here in flesh then."

"I am."

The weight on his back grew, "I'm glad."

Neiro drifted off to sleep in the afternoon sun, enveloped by the lush retreat.

When he awoke it was to the sweet thick aroma of pumpkin spice.

It took a moment of recollection to remember he had fallen asleep in the living room. The scent of pine had clung long after Silas released his projection.

Yawning wide, he picked himself off the carpet and padded over to the kitchen where his flatmate doubtlessly was.

And as expected, the brunette was pulling out a tray from the oven, the contents of which roused him to full consciousness.

"Pumpkin spice cookies!" He beamed.

"Give them a Time to cool." The Invalid chided.

But Neiro had already popped a cookie off and was munching on the soft chewy treat, sighing contentedly.

Silas shook his head, a hand at his temple. But there was no illwill in his grumping, nor anything more than theatrics behind his actions.

Snippets and Stories: (R) The World Beyond

"Your loss again." he chortled. Neskyii was off to the side, that typical and ever sly Cheshire smile on his face.

I'm scowling at him, I can feel my lip pulling back, though never parting, as if to bare teeth.

His eyes are slanted and narrow, often reminding me of a wily fox. The image suits him well.

It was another one of those dreams. Not a nightmare per se, but a daunting game of cat and mouse. 

When it started I know not, and the bits I could recall are as follows. 

My first awareness that I could remember was amidst a dark city of antique and color. Not quite rustic or bearing the steampunk theme, but like a sleeping toy miniature of a city. I followed a path of train tracks and gradually the sound of footsteps reached me. 

It was another of his games.

Keep out of the shadows.

If there are any rules in the dreamworld, this certainly numbers among the top 5.

Rule two, don't stop running.

I ran, and though I couldn't feel the burn, my body was weakened as it always was in this realm. No matter what corner I turned it all seemed the same. The buildings arched overhead, their twisting shadows splayed across the cobblestone streets.

There was a low din, like the disgruntled mutterings of seething crowd, and I made a mistake of craning around as the whispers rose in volume. 

Three, don't look back.

Behind me something was in the shadows, its monstrous form silent, but no less deadly. Horrifying clawed appendages reached for me, the black talons snagging and rupturing blood from mundane items. 

I'm not sure how a lamppost could bleed, but it did, and the blood that flowed out seemed to become an ocean, thick and murky.

Four, don't go in the water.

Swimming is always a bad idea. Even if I did manage to somehow swim in my dreams, there's always something in the water. 

Though I felt none of the exertion, my dream self was panting, their pace steady as they grasped a railed stairwell and raced up onto the roof.

Five, it's just a dream.

It took a long time, but seeing the world in its entirety, this toy replica of a city with its own steam engine train puffing through the streets, I realized.

From past experiences from an astral's view, my eyes were likely glowing. 

Dark clouds from the steam engine blanketed the city with cloud and fog, a light drizzle showering all beneath it. Yet I could feel none of it.

As I always did upon reaching a state of consciousness, I took for the skies.

It was hard to fly this time around, and my mind felt heavy trying to sustain flight. It was brief, but I relished in the sensation of flight. Something I never dreamed of doing (pun unintended), but enjoyed at its opportunities

With my hands in front of me I willed the clouds to part, and slowly they did. There was no sun, but it was brighter now.

In a rare moment, I admired the field of green beneath me. It would only be much later, in the waking world, that I realized it had transitioned into day. Likely due to my subconscious fear for the dark and all things in it.

It's amazing, the world created within the mind's eye, and now I had the lucidity to fully appreciate it.

The clouds weren't fully dispersed when he appeared, all smiles.

"Conscious are we?" came an amused voice. 

His arrival wasn't unexpected. Being a spectator in that moment I could see and feel more than what my dreamself was restricted to looking at. 

I turn to face him. This wasn't someone you wanted to turn your back to. 

And yet, exposing the front was sometimes more perilous still.

"Ah yes-" his eyes open just a slit as his voice takes on darker tones, "-but not yet awake." 

It's rare for anyone who speaks in my dream to maintain their own enunciation, yet he always speaks with his own voice.

"What are you doing here Neskyii?"

The raven laughs, as if the answer was obvious. And perhaps it was. My dreamself was never all that coherent.

Ah, yes. I forgot one last thing. And perhaps one of the most important.

"To wake you, of course."

Don't trust anyone or anything.

I'm not sure I like the smile on his face, but then again, when have I ever? But what he said was strange, and I voiced it with a matter of fact tone, "You can't touch me while I'm lucid."

"No. I can't." his eyes become slitted again as he narrows them, that smile still lingering. "But neither are you able to maintain it."

And with that a black tendril coils up from somewhere in the slumbering toy city beneath me. I lurch back as it twists around my ankle, and having my concentration broken, forget.

The light dims from my eyes. It was no longer a dream. It was real. 

Neskyii appears in front of me, his own eyes glinting with unmasked mirth. 

As he pulls back a clawed hand, he bids me a final farewell, the last word laced with a mockery and distaste, "It's time to wake up, dear creator."

With that, he plunges it into me. 

And suddenly I'm staring at pastel blue walls and a blanket of maroon and forest green.

The blow doesn't land. It never does. Still I reach up to touch my sternum. His claws were aimed for the soft unprotected flesh right below.

I hear a low laugh and fix him with a jaded glare, "That wasn't funny Neskyii."

"Come now, don't be upset." he chuckles, nonchalantly shrugging off the withering look I sent his way and grinning wider at my glower, "It was only a dream."

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Possessed (4 of ?)

There was a huge discrepancy in their personalities.

Neiro was a playful and carefree soul, and Silas a misanthrope and sardonic realist.

But the Time for familiarity was over, something else had taken precedence.

"Sy." He nudged the brunette and received a discontented grumble in return, "Lend me your strength."

Silas sat up slowly, eyes narrowing at him, "Do I have any say in the matter?"

A sigh, "Unfortunately not."

"This is just going to end up like every other attempt you've made."

"Perhaps."

His Host studied him before closing his eyes and withdrawing.

With a grateful nod, Muspell allowed his consciousness to slip away, until he had eyes with which to open.

Silas's unease was oppressing, but he couldn't fault him. Relinquishing control to some echo of Aether was a dangerous thing. Nonetheless, the other's eyes slipped shut and the brunette took the backseat.

"Thank you, my friend."

Ophidians are not known for their warmth, and the derogation of cold-blooded had basis in both the biological roots of those of serpentine descent, and the disposition of guarded indifference typical to which the scaled sentients carried themselves. For those who lived lives that far exceeded the affairs of the lower races and their fleeting lifespans of which but were a flicker beside their inferno, they oft but felt little. 

In this Muspell was an oddity, earnest and of open heart, his emotions so lively and plainly in sight.

And it was with the same that he yielded to Silas now, and when he felt the other recede still, was grateful.

"Do what you need to and be done with it."

So gentle and unassuming. In the face of Silas's assertiveness he had, like a slip of paper to the wind, been brushed aside.

Silas grimaced and forced himself to relax.

Sensing the other quieting down, Muspell's hurried off and rounded another corner, elated as he felt the pulse of Aether.

And then he was home, "Neiro."

"What's up Sy?"

There he was. His old friend of ages past so close, and most of all, within reach. Muspell stepped fully into the shared housing. He couldn't wait, "Neiro, it's me."

Confusion flashed across the familiar face of his friend before a goofy grin spread on his lips, "It's you!"

Muspell chuckled, and his inflection gave the other pause.

There was a moment of bemusement in the other's countenance before his jaw went slack, "Muspell?"

Neiro's large eyes blinked, disbelief plastered over them, but there was no mistake, peering into the Aether he felt the familiar presence that he couldn't forget even after all this Time.

He staggered as the Numen nearly knocked him off his feet, arms wound tight around his mid.

"Muspell..."

Slowly, the Yggdrasill returned the gesture and greeted the other fondly, "Neiro."

It was a bit strange, to feel the other so small in his arms and the thought of the puppet's cherubic face brought a chuckle, "To think that I would meet you in such a diminutive form."

Neiro for his part, was suitably abashed, and grinned up at him with colored cheeks, shrugging helplessly.

The Numen brought their faces close and pressed their temple together.

The seed felt the familiar warmth wash over him and gave a small nod.

Neiro rifled through, and hummed as the dark pockets of memory were now filled, lit with the memories, the information that had for so long been devoid. Dark pockets that had been filled with the uncertainty that came with the unknown.

Through the remnants that had lain dormant in the ring, did he awaken with Esti's own lucidity. It certainly explained much as to why the Amphisbaena had grown restless.

"I've missed you too Neiro." It was odd to hear such unmasked emotion in a melodic lilt instead of Silas's slighted monotone, and the warmth in his eyes made him look a stranger. Then again the body was a mere vessel, it was the mind that made the person. He gave his old friend a once over, from his expression to the way he held himself, it was very different from Sy.

How he had missed such a sight, though many Times he had turned back the hourglass to glimpse upon his dear friend.

Just then Muspell grasped his hand, "But the Time for reminiscing is past. It's Time to move on, my dear Numen."

"Muspell--"

Muspell dropped their gaze, eyes slipping shut and a smile on his lips, "The Seed has been sown, it has passed to the next generation. Ken will attest to it."

For the longest Time Neiro was silent, Muspell tried to be patient, but he himself was laboring to remain conscious in his Host.

"I'll never forget you."

Muspell blinked, and smiled, "Perhaps... It would be better if you had."

"To forget you would be to forget whatever 'self' is here now."

And suddenly he was staring at the face of his old friend as he towered above him. It was as if things were as they were back then. 

A dangerous illusion that his Heart ached to believe true.

But be was here on borrowed Time. There was no place, no Time, for him now.

The Ophidian shook his head, "You're shackling yourself to the past. If our Time meant anything to you, then please. It's Time to let go."

For a moment the cold indifference sent a chill through him, and he was reminded of the true nature of the entity before him, "Nothing of the sort."

A tearful laugh broke from him, "You say that even as your form changes! How you put forth a pretense of strength if but to ease me." he reached up to trace along the temple, hand resting on the Numen's cheek, "It's Time to let go, Neiro. Release the Amphisbaena that your soul may finally know peace."

"Your Aether permits me to mingle. That I live on experiencing life as you so wished for."

The former Yggdrasill sighed, "Enough Neiro. I wont last long, the remnant that anchors my aether is almost gone." he looked Neiro in the eye, determined, "I have but the strength to see this out. Please, before my aethor has reached the limit of expenditure."

But Neiro remained steadfast, staring down at the Ophidian.

Muspell shook his head, sighing, "You keep my Aethor close, like a barbed hook that but buries itself deeper. Please Neiro, I can't rest easy, with you hurting so. And over me of all things! Can't you see what is around you now?"

The grip on his shoulder tensed, but again the Numen was impassive, "I see all."

"Yet you didn't see me."

At this Neiro faltered and something almost fearful crossed his eyes. It pained him to see his friend so uncertain, and afraid. Like a child who had lost their way, and no differently would he have to lead them into the light. It tore at the Yggdrasill to see such stark fear, how afraid Neiro was at the mere thought that they had almost missed one another. So close, yet unable to hear his plea. But the Seed pressed on, "You couldn't see me, could you? A whole morning."

No response, but he could tell the Numen was struggling. There was a ripple in his Aethor, a change as it suddenly stilled and coiled, poised, as if ready to strike, to lash out.

Still he continued, "Do you know why you, with your infinite eyes and very essence of aether, could not see me?"

"..."

By his countenance they both knew. But it needed to be said.

"You have so deeply shrouded yourself in my Aethor, mimicked it so closely, that it is as if it was your own. Nay, is your own. With the small fragment within the Amphisbaena forever by your side, and so strongly did you yearn and copy, that there is nary a difference in our aether. For the aetherical signature you lack, mine own has taken place."

The look on his face had changed. And he stared up at the opal eyes, entranced by the expressions that now danced across them. Expressions he had so long ago went to great lengths to draw out of the staggering apathy.

Few he could name, and fewer still he could truly comprehend.

With a deep breath, he spoke the last of his mind, quietly and with a note of finality. "A cliched saying of the past it may be, but no less true. I am a part of you Neiro. I will live on in you."

At last there was a small nod, and the Numen raised his head to meet his gaze. What he saw there he would never forget.

He stared up at the other's eyes, burning this memory as deeply into himself as he could. The glow of evening light on his hair, the slight anxious furrow of his brows. The eyes that told so much, and yet so little.

Slowly he began, a gentle whisper to the winds. Gently, another rose with his and their melodies resonated.

The leaves danced in the zephyr's still, and when at last the light grew meek, did the voiceless solo trail off in a last solemn twirl.

Silas came to with his head pounding. But it wasn't to the bedroom ceiling, instead he stared uncomfortably at the stranger holding his form close.

When the form in his arms tensed, he knew his dear friend was truly gone, but even as Silas made to pull away did he cling tighter still, "Please. Just for a little."

Let me stay here but a moment longer.

A grimace crossed his face. The choice wasn't truly his to make. Contrary to the strong front, his body had grown with as the illness progressed.

He couldn't bear to pull away, to confront with his own eyes the finality of his passing. Holding the other close, he could pretend for a little longer that it was Muspell still there with him.

After the light had long gone, and only when a chill had settled in the now dark room, and a shiver passed through him, did the man reluctantly part with him.

Silas stepped back uneasily as he stared at the stranger, "Who are you."

Now that there was some distance between them he studied them carefully. His height seemed somewhat unnatural, but he didn't seem to have the same symptoms that plagued his own body.

"Oh, sorry Sy!"

The sudden change from the stern voice before startled him, more so that it was one he was all too familiar with.

And suddenly it was Neiro standing there, grinning sheepishly and rubbing at the back of his head, the astral manifestation dissipated. His flatmate tapped at his wristband, a projection of the records of his heart rate and other such information shining on the display.

"What were you doing using a projection from an astral pod?" Silas scowled, brows knit and contemplating why he felt perturbed and whether or not he should retire early that night.

"Huh. I thought you said you wanted to try out examining the vitals while maintaining Astral form and contact?" Neiro shrugged, "Y'know, testing the physical strain of maintaining superficial manipulations and all that." He glanced at the a nearby retro clock and hummed, "An hour and a half. Not bad, the strain made you black out though. I'm amazed you regained consciousness so quickly. Want me to send you the data?"

Something wasn't adding up, but the unrelenting ache in his skull wasn't letting up. The prospect of heading off early seemed rather enticing at the moment.

Eyes imploring, Neiro waited patiently, until receiving an affirmative nod, "I'll take a look at it later. I'm turning in for the night."

"Alright. Meet you downstairs." Neiro grinned and Silas gave him a nod back before dissipating.

Off he darted towards the underground.

For once dreading his arrival. The Numen closed his eyes. He could still see Muspell's gentle features and gaze, was seeing it in fact, as he turned back the hourglass.

As much as he despised feeling so, for it was unfair to Silas, he couldn't help the slight loathing and disappointment when the man would look up at him, decrepit eyes void of the warmth of the dear Ophidian.

At the least Silas would remember none of it. It was to his advantage that Muspell's aether took with it all its essence, including that which mingled with the Invalid's memories. 

Snippets and Stories: (R) Snuffed (3 of ?)

Today the wall is lined with the various emotions so carefully sculpted.

The quiet mask is a favorite fallback of mine, though brash was another. So many faces, so many facets. Kindness, callousness, the optimist, the realist, and the pessimist. The humanitarian, and the misanthrope. Braveness and cowardice in equal parts.

Who or what would it be today?

"Indifference."

Snippets and Stories: (R) Snuffed (2 of ?)

The ground is no softer than it was the first Time, but it is with considerably more difficulty that I pick myself up once more.

The warmth dripping down my face has obscured what little vision I have left, and the world left is but that of my 3rd eye, and that of sound.

It was always like this wasn't it? Biting cold surrounding me as I groped through the darkness, searching for the warmth I had lost sight of.

Strange Place: First Stop

Strange Place is the humble name of an assortment of story ideas that are or
were spun, and spinning still. A collective of stories that may not have quite made it to the Storyboard.

"Welcome to the first stop, those bound for Apotheosis, The Starmaker, Esprit de la Plume, and Strangers Abound, this is your stop. 

Snippets and Stories: (R) Snuffed (1 of ?)

It doesn't feel as though the flame burns brighter, if anything dying down to a flicker.

The light cast scarce peers into the gloom, and there he stands, hair indiscernible from the shadows. One could little tell where one began and another ended. Or perhaps it was all a part of him.

One may run their whole Life, but it is impossible to outrun oneself.