Carrier

For years we watched the Bleed flow past. We thought there was a world worth saving, but some days told us that perhaps it was not so. Those days depressed us.

And there were always the carriers of tales, the spinners of barbed stories and poisoned webs. These were often trusted by the wrong people at the wrong time. With the thinnest of threads, they span the broadest of tapes. Many were ensnared.

But slowly, the silk was rewound, the chrysalis remade. It is no rough beast that slouches towards Bethlehem to be born, but a strange and fiery thing that rises from the ashes. Watch the nest! Scent the burning herbs! And do not place your gaze upon the sun.