She had been sleeping. Now she was awake. She was old, older than she remembered, but now, for the first time, she felt aged. She was, had been, The One Who Dreamed About Funny Jokes, or Checkrizaradghansk, but now her dreams were frayed. There had been a time for jokes and pranks, but they were coming to and end. She was coming to an end.
Don't be afraid little daughter.
Nothing had ever called her from the outside before. She was curious, and afraid.
We will look after you. We once were, now we are.
Such a simple sentence, and how frightening. Change, it meant change. She could feel it pulling at her, tearing her apart. There would be no returning to her world.
Yes, change. There are frays in the weave, and you must change to tear them free. Will you join us, little daughter?
She did not want to. She longed to. She was torn between duty and fear. What will happen?
We don't know. Change. Change, little daughter.
She changed. She died. She was born.
Welcome sister.
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Frays in the Weave
FantasyGreat tales need to be told, but those that shape the world must be added to the Weave. With the awakening of a god two taleweavers sharing two worlds meet and shape a new future for both. As they add new strands to the Weave in a way no taleweaver...
