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||They were listening that night. Or so he claims. They listen at the windows where the light streams through. The listen at the cracks where lamplight seeps through a doorway. They come and listen when you light a candle. So now we follow them. |
Beyond the threshold of our lights, where the scents of fresh bread wafted in the night, and far beyond the mundane sounds that crashed through the house. Into the silent crevases. We shielded our lanterns that they would not immolate themselves and we followed them to seek the moth queen.
He says they listen all the time. They memorize the stories that we tell one another in the brilliant glare of our dinner table, or the muttered dreams that escape our lips by a flickering candlelight. Then they flitter through the dusk and gloam and pour these whispers out for her. Perhaps we could taste some of those simmering dreams if we found her as well. And so we listen tonight, and we follow.
|Climbing the Dragon Gate||Wings|
|Tarot: Four of Wands||Flight|
|Beneath the Eildon Tree||Dancers in the Dusk|