A note from the author
Dreams never reveal what a person wishes them to. They are cryptic and silent, even when they wake one screaming. Sometimes one finds themselves straining to hear an echo, or cowering from a simple whisper. Such is the power of the imagination. It takes the world that is so normal and orderly, and turns it around. It meshes the shadows and illuminates memory. It hides in wait, a soundless stalker, waiting for its prey. Deep hidden fears and desires arise, yet…is this all they are? If dreams can be a doorway to the past, why not elsewhere? Why not to the future, or to another place entirely? Is it so improbable, so ridiculous that this could be so? Throughout the world's history, people claim to see the future. Ghosts arise from their reverberating tombs, and reveal their murderer. Good and evil are harbored in the realms of dreams, just as they are harbored inside the human soul. Beautiful wings, outstretch in the sun, pale light filtering through pure feathers. A dark mare, eyes red as hell itself, coat black as a hopeless night. All lie within mans intellect.
So dream and fly, but remember the fall is long and perilous. For in every night there is a masquerade, and in every morn the end of the hearts vision. Hearken, for now the morrow begins, and your love is far away.
What lies ahead of us, dear readers, is a mix of imagination, childhood stories, and too many late nights spent doing nothing. Please enjoy, and try not to fall.