Hinrich smells of the road: faint wood and oil-traces laced by sweat and a certain something I’ll name manhood. He’s warm, and close.
“Then,” I press against him, “I want you to look. And I want you to see.”
“The radiant current, creations yet uncreated? You feel it?” Azru asked once, as she rested her hand on the child’s head while they looked out upon a foggy morn. A cool wind coursed over the bogs and tousled their hair. “That is magic, my dear one. You have the Gift.
“My friends–former friends after reading this, I hope–have sometimes joked that I sound like a supervillain.”
“The child was born beneath a blood-red moon that scourged a stained-glass sky under midnight like the breaking of the world. The blighted orb’s glow spread as ten thousand smoky tendrils through the latticework seams of–“
“But of course, there is none other to speak for me.
What cowardice would it be to pass my meanings through another’s words? The visions I speak come through…”
1 (Death to a figure in a porcelain mask):
Tundral blue
in ivory sockets
the plunge of a stake.
Hello, readers. This will be another of those posts where I unpack my latest batch of unearthed psychological problems on the blog. This will not be another post where I try to tell you I’m done with the blog or writing. Those were never the desires I wanted to escape from. I understand that now. […]
“It is just in time for an echo of startling in the nearest silhouette as we round the same corner, and collide with each other.”
“I heard a call through the pigments of things that could be, and have been. It surprised me because it lacked any command. There was no snare, no threat, no bribe either. It was as a doorway left open.”
“In tight-eyed recollection, she told us of a swordmaster named Bodo Haddenwich, and made mention of the peculiar art he practiced. She named this art as ‘Blitzhau'”
