As you tap the essence with a deft touch, a rush of old memories washes over your mind.
Rancorous shouts. Warmth and colors. Nyedra gathers.
Stories, music, debate, protest, we come.
A young one. Watching at a distance, enraptured.
I beckon her to join. Perhaps I am too large, frightening?
She vanishes.
Screams, stillness, and cacophony.
Hearts stop. Stars fall; the song is dead.
I swat at the assailant, nothing. Like a shadow, gone.
Roaring. Howling. I hurl a boulder toward Zakiros. Indiference.
Crowds scatter. Night swallows, protects.
I bear Mosyn across Eventide, to rest beneath the tree.
I sit with her, with my thoughts. I return time and again.
Her house, even wanderers, all come to mourn.
A tap at my side.
The young one from before. Older now, I see her plainly.
The Midnight's kin, I should smear her; I want to.
She sits at my side.
Why has the Lady Peitha sought my counsel?