Fool. What they think; what I am. A road to nowhere. Warned, again and again: the woods too cold, too dark, so deep in winter. None left now to show me the way.
Warmth. A dream, forgotten in the dark, where the trees whisper, the shadows smile. Shivering, entranced by the fire...by faces I once knew, the lie of kindness.
Whispers on the wind, laughter beneath the earth. A hole in the path, eyes in the dark below. Flying, though eyes and laughter follow, though the dark will never let me go.
Flying, a phantom himself; something ragged, something bleeding. “Get out of here, fool.” The shadows follow.
They see. Light dying at my back, day a forgotten dream. The shadows I trail; the blood and pain; what the wild will love me for, when all else is gone.
Tomorrow...if tomorrow ever comes; if there ever was such a thing as dawn or light, maybe they'll find me. Or the night and the woods will go on forever, until I'm just another shade; bones in the boughs.
“No one would dare,” he said. Now I know why; the spirits of the Wild Wood following, mad invitation in their eyes.
“Soon you shall forget...” So the cold moon sings. How can I believe her, after what her children have become, the feasts they hold in her name..?
Rising...a frozen, breathless thing. Laughing with the shadows, no longer afraid. A new terror for the meek to tell tales of, to appal the children of day.
George Lea is an entity that seems to simultaneously exist and not exist at various points and states in time and reality, mostly where there are vast quantities of cake to be had. He has a lot of books. And a cat named Rufus. What she makes of all this is anyone's guess.