• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 12

The weaver

“I have a story to tell. One that has been heard by many minds and lived through many ages. Listen to my voice as it shapes mankind’s world in the shadows.” The voice beckoned to be heard and its pull could not be denied.

I could not know nor fathom where the words came from, but they flowed through the air with a warmth that pushed away all the worry that stagnated in the room. The air felt thick but not heavy, my lungs felt light with each breath and my eyes wept a sigh of relieve. The room was hot with the midday sun, but the air was cool to the skin. The stiffness of the floor—on which I sat—had been ordered momentarily out of existence by the same voice that had entranced my mind.

The voice conjured a story of pain, and suffering. A story of lust and despair. A story filled with bliss and regret. The voice conjured many stories, and many broke my heart.

Within the words, I saw a child weep for a parent they would never have. I saw a beautiful woman laugh as the man of her dreams pushed a golden ring on her finger. Within the words that the voice uttered I lived alongside a man who had died centuries before I was born. I witnessed his first love, I witnessed his first lie, I witnessed the birth of his first child and the death of his true love. I witnessed his life and his death. Through the stories that the voice so gently told me, I saw the world—as it was—broken and mended countless many times. I saw the world as the being behind the voice saw it.

The voice showed me worlds beyond those I already knew.


The weaver

The floor whose embrace had been made to hold my body and the air whose presence had been modified to soothe me soon sent me to a light slumber as the voice continued with its tales.

Like a farmer in a field, the voice grew fairy-tales and nightmares in my dreams. I dreamed of a child burdened with a decision he had not made and could not undo. I dreamed of a three-eyed monster who shied away from me, a blue-eyed wise monster who barely spoke, and a furry giant who roared as he laughed.

I woke in the silence of the night. The voice was silent but the candlelight that shone in mid-air with no candles attached spoke of its presence.

“Who are you?” I asked. I felt the room shift as my question echoed through the room.

“I am one who moves among men unseen. I was born along with the first man and will live until the last man draws his last breath. My power is subtle and incapable of destruction.” The voice went silent and left the words weighing heavy on the room.
“I am a weaver of tales. A storyteller.”