Pale light and the sound of crickets, searching in the muted dark.
@bookie-the-reading-junkie
The trade isn’t a fair one. Everyone must enter the forest at some point. It has always been a place for the unusual. Not necessarily magic, not quite so powerful, but the in-between likes to hide among the trees. Anyone you ask will say that the deer of the forest, though, are the most ethereal creatures that live in the forest. Filled with a golden innocence, never anything but trusting, even as you near them with a trembling knife. No one wants to carve out the chest of such a beautiful creature, but it’s something we all do. We have to.
It’s not a peaceful death either. It might not even be death. Whatever happens to the deer after the gaping hole is opened in their chest is… forgotten. No one wishes to know. No one wants to have the true realization of what they’ve done.
But what we do know is the thing that crawls out of the deer’s chest. From the concavity, a landlord emerges. These beings are barely distinguishable from the shadows that they come from, that dark pit of a deer’s chest. They are powerful. We know that much. To what extent, well, we can only guess from their smiles.
We all must harvest a landlord. We must all trade a deer for shadows. Small deeds, small evils. We do what we have to.
