Eidolon Ave: The Second Feast
The glimmer of a tear.
She drew back. Thumbed to the beginning of the story.
And so it ends . . .
Steadying her hands, she fought to remain calm. Turned to the end.
I couldn’t scream and I couldn’t get away. Couldn’t pull free. And the pain, it was warm. Wet. Odd. Impossible. A something that was happening, yes, but also felt far, far away, as strange as that sounds. But I knew it was—
The sentence interrupted, the final page ripped free. The imminent end of this ominous thing unknown. The pages beyond that clear, waiting to be written. A clearing in the quiet waiting for new seeds to be planted and new forests, valleys, canyons to unfold.
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