Dying of the Light

Give a thing a name and it will somehow come to be.

Can they love without a word for it?

I have never forgotten, and I can't imagine you have, and I've thought of it over the years. It was so good, when it was good, I kept thinking. How could it go wrong?

But the melancholy of Worlorn's dying forests had seeped into his flesh, and he saw Gwen through tainted eyes, a doll figure in a suit as faded as despair.

In the cool weak light the nightflames all had died, and the silent streets echoed death and desolation. Worlorn’s day. Yet it was twilight.

But I do exist. Remember that . . . This is not Avalon now, t'Larien, and today is not yesterday. It is a dying Festival world, a world without a code, so each of us must cling tightly to whatever codes we bring with us. (Jaan Vikary)