As she mused over the whereabouts of the missing monks, a gust of wind tugged at her haori, and the reedy, distant laughter of children seemed to momentarily vanish from the chilled air. She took another wary step down the mountain path, but paused. There shouldn't be children on the mountain this late at night.

In the Temple of my Gods

There are times when I step away, from the fleeting march of this life, and fall into the woods of the Deep, a country of clinging fog. Beyond that step is a temple, a labyrinth, a library, the hollow within the eye of a crestfallen artist. The walls are made from the thing of dreams, … Continue reading In the Temple of my Gods