“We’re somewhere, I believe, between a dream, a desire, an an appeal for help. And I… well, I suspect I’m here because I have a tendency to promote change, for better or worse. And I’d rather it be for the better in your case, Father. I do like you.”
He walks over to a nearby candle, snuffing out the icy flame and seeming to conjure up a new one that glows with a proper warmth. The orange hues of comfort and safety begin to radiate from it, but there’s a distortedness to it. The edges of the world are too sharp, too deep, like heavy strokes of an oil painting, and the colors are a little too bright.
“You don’t trust any of this,” he remarks, tone neutral, as he scoops up a piece of broken stained glass. It turns into a butterfly and takes to the air.
“Probably best that you don’t. I had a dream recently that kept folding in and in and in on itself, and by the morning I had folded myself into such a tight knot.”
no subject
He walks over to a nearby candle, snuffing out the icy flame and seeming to conjure up a new one that glows with a proper warmth. The orange hues of comfort and safety begin to radiate from it, but there’s a distortedness to it. The edges of the world are too sharp, too deep, like heavy strokes of an oil painting, and the colors are a little too bright.
“You don’t trust any of this,” he remarks, tone neutral, as he scoops up a piece of broken stained glass. It turns into a butterfly and takes to the air.
“Probably best that you don’t. I had a dream recently that kept folding in and in and in on itself, and by the morning I had folded myself into such a tight knot.”