By Jenny Brigalow
Look Between The Lines
It is time to talk. Be seated. Fill your glass with rich red wine. Caste away your cares, settle down to listen.
There have always been the Children. I know, fore I walked with them through the Mist. My mother, and her father, and his father before him walked with them too. We were the keepers of the secrets and the tellers of the tales. Many names we have had, bard and jester, mage and madman.
Times change and those that walk this world must adapt or perish. The Children flourished. Until one day a new force arose. A magic of great might that threatened to extinguish the Olde. But the Children are nothing if not resourceful. They came to me and begged me to write their story into the realms of myth.
Hide us, they said, between the lines of…
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