"If you walk about the city long enough, you might glimpse a man, a cloaked man who strays from the typical path. You might fancy him an illusion or a trick of the eye. But whatever his form, he's there. Were you close enough to discern, you'd find that he is without a face. Every evening he emerges from the wood, towing a weathered sack. He takes things. He leaves things. Then he disappears into the wood again, fading like a shadow stretched too thin by a firey horizon. They say he learned how to unweave the worlds and see things man was not meant for seeing. They say he spoke to the things that live outside the light. He once said, when asked of his afflictions, that he learned of things as a flea might of the beasts on which he suckles, as the worm might of the infinity of the sky. Best cut him a wide berth and heed not his mumbling. Madmen know of things they cannot unknow, of things we do not want to." |
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