Fetching Feathers
The wind rustled gently through the trees.
The wind rustled gently through the trees.
It was like there were pixels: red ones, blue ones and black ones.
The sun had just begun its slow climb over the horizon, casting molten gold across the waves.
Working by candlelight, we carefully stepped between endless shelves of books, books whose vivid imagination and terrible thoughts had become real and had entered our world.
There is something fascinating about making things up that could never exist.
It started as a thought experiment, sealed away from the certainty of observation.
A great, furry creature once stumbled upon a golden treasure hidden within an old, hollowed-out tree trunk.
The skyline cracked open in a bright flash.
As the green candlelight flickered lower and lower, a group of tireless paranormal researchers who had gathered around a reconstructed ritual circle were casting ancient manuscripts into the flames.
There was no way out.